


Conversation Hearts

by amandajoyce118



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: All the Episode Tags, Alphabet, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e06 FZZT, Episode: s01e13 T.R.A.C.K.S., Episode: s01e17 Turn Turn Turn, Episode: s01e20 Nothing Personal, Episode: s01e21 Ragtag, Episode: s01e22 Beginning of the End, Friendship, Hydra (Marvel), Season/Series 01, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 97,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of conversations amongst members of Coulson's team. An alphabet challenge. Originally posted at FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amen

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Amen.

-o-

Jemma Simmons has, for a very long time, thought of herself as a scientist before anything else. She hasn’t seen the inside of a church since she was a very young girl. Not since she attended the funeral for a great aunt.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the need to look to a higher power for guidance. Human beings searched for meaning and guidance; it was in their nature. It was more along the lines of her being so used to relying on evidence and facts that she wasn’t sure about where her own beliefs stood. Especially not since the same beings that some cultures worshipped as ancient gods had recently been revealed to be, well, aliens from another world where science and magic had somehow become a single entity. She also hadn’t really had much reason to ask for help over the last few years. She had been basically confined to the safe space of her lab.

But now, Jemma Simmons was on a team with a group of people who seemed to be constantly walking into danger. And she couldn’t rely on her own skills to stitch someone up when their wounds went below the surface. Sitting in a hospital waiting room where the doctors wouldn’t allow her any information about the condition of one of her teammates was not something she was very good at. She started off her wait pressed up against Fitz’s side, hoping that they would somehow give one another an infusion of strength. But with every neuron in her brain crying out for more information and more help, she was too antsy to sit still.

“I’m just,” she started, bracing her hands on her knees and jumping to her feet, “going to the little girls’ room.”

Simmons took in the guilty look on Fitz’s face that hadn’t left since they first found Skye, Ward’s hard lines of anger that she was afraid were never going to go away, Coulson’s worried brow line, and May’s carefully controlled expression, as closed off as ever. None of them protested. None of them said she shouldn’t go alone. None of them said anything. So she swallowed, nodded her head, and left the room. A couple of turns down a confusing hallway later, and she’d reached the restroom.

It smelled like much of the rest of the hospital in here. Disinfectant, lemon, plastic, heat. It’s not altogether unpleasant. It reminded her very much of the labs at The Academy. And the memories of learning and climbing the SHIELD ranks are something of a comfort right now when she isn’t allowed to do anything. Walking over to the sink, Jemma chanced a glance in the mirror. She didn’t look half bad for a girl whose friend and teammate was fighting for her life nearby. In fact, short of her bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, you might not even know that she was upset.

Washing her hands for probably the tenth time since attempting to stop a hole in Skye’s abdomen from leaving her blood all over a wine cellar floor, she took one long deep breath in, held it, and pushed a shaky one out. Using the mirror as a way to gauge if there was anyone in the other stalls, Jemma shot her eyes from one door to the next. All three were devoid of life. She was safe. And unobserved. So she gripped the edges of the sink, opened her mouth, and she started to speak, all the while staring at the steady stream of water pouring from the faucet.

_So here it is – I don’t claim to be an expert on this whole thing. And I might not be well versed in the praying part of religious tradition, but I’m willing to try if you are… whoever you may be._

_I – I don’t really know Skye all that well to be perfectly honest. I think there’s a lot about her life that she’s kept to herself. Maybe she doesn’t want us all to know how bad things were for her. Skye doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who is going to thrive on pity. I know that she doesn’t have anyone else. The people in the waiting room out there, my team, they’re Skye’s team to. I guess you know that. What I mean to say is that… There’s this idea that you’re born in to one family, that you don’t get a choice about who you share your bloodline with, but that the people you become friends with, share your life with, those are the family you choose. Skye didn’t really get a chance to choose us. She fell in with us because, well, I don’t really know the whole story, but I know we probably aren’t her first choice for a family. Not really. But I’d pick her for mine in the breadth of a single heartbeat._

_I need you to help those doctors in there do what they do best. Skye is like a ball of energy that keeps the rest of us on our toes. She’s the missing piece in our very dysfunctional little puzzle. And we really are a family. She’s become a real friend, maybe even a sister. We’d do anything for her. And I’m sure any of us, all of us, would trade places with her. Not that I’m bargaining for that, of course. I do know my stages of grief. It’s something they teach us at the Academy. A basic psych course to deal with eventualities in the field. I’m not ready to lose anyone though. Oh, I know, no one is ready to lose someone. I just mean –_

_I’m not being very clear, am I? The whole point of this prayer is to ask you, again, no disrespect to whichever deity is choosing to listen to me, to please help us – them – save her. If we lose her, I don’t know that our family can recover. We’re only just getting to know her. We need more time. Maybe you could just buy us a little more time?_

A twinge of a spring needing to be oiled made Jemma stop in mid thought. She wasn’t ready to finish. But she didn’t really know what else to say. The opening door revealed a sullen Agent May who, without a word or nod of acknowledgement, headed straight for a stall and locked the door behind her. Jemma didn’t hear the telltale _zzztt_ of a zipper, or any other sounds that would have indicated that May was even there to use the restroom. Jemma took in another deep breath, rinsed her hands again, let the breath out, and turned off the water.

Just as the stream of water came to an end, she heard a sharp thud, followed by a deep cracking sound, and May unlocked the stall and joined her at the sink. Her eyes were hard as she turned on the faucet and washed plaster from her hands, and Jemma could see the indentation in the wall behind them. May wasn’t going to cry, or curse the world, or even pray. One quick burst of energy, and she was ready to go back to being the rock for the rest of them. Jemma collected herself as best she could, and turned to the other woman.

“Do you think-“ she broke off, unable to continue with her question.

“They’ll help her,” May responded easily. “They’re doctors. It’s what they do. And Skye isn’t dying. She crawled across that floor because she wanted to live. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Skye doesn’t give up when she wants something. She fights for it.”

May left the younger agent standing there at the sink, the door closing behind her softly. Jemma dried her hands with a paper towel and caught her reflection in the mirror.

_Help her fight. Please._

-o-


	2. Bonfire

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Bonfire.

-o-

Your mouth is a revolver

Firing bullets in the sky

Your love is like a soldier

Loyal 'til you die

-James Blunt, Bonfire Heart

-o-

When he finds out they’re going to be on the same team, he’s surprised. He’s heard of her. Everyone has heard of her. But she hasn’t been in the field in years. And now, she’s flying the plane. It’s unthinkable that someone as talented, as committed, as good, as The Cavalry is just the bus driver. And after they’ve completed the repairs following their second mission and he’s had a couple drinks with the scientists on the loading dock to celebrate, he wanders into the cockpit and tells her so.

“I like driving the bus.”

It’s all she says to him, but after, she slips on her sunglasses, hiding the steeliness in her eyes. She lets out one long, slow breath as she runs through a mental checklist of sorts.

“I couldn’t have got the others out of this thing without you, you know?”

It slips out of his mouth without thought. He’s not usually one to give compliments, and he definitely isn’t one to admit he needs (or needed) help. And he hasn’t said anything to her about their group bonding experience that involved blowing a hole in the side of the plane since it happened. They’ve been surrounded by other SHIELD agents and engineers for the better part of a week.

“I know.” One corner of her mouth quirks up in a smirk, but she doesn’t say anything else to him. She flips a switch, pushes a button, and speaks into her mic so the rest of the team can hear her, effectively ending their conversation, “Wheels up.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he stays in the copilot seat for the rest of their flight. Three hours in silence with her, and it isn’t awkward. She doesn’t fill the silence with chatter like Skye or Simmons would. And she doesn’t look at him like he’s something to be studied like Fitz does. It’s nice. Almost familiar.

And it becomes a thing.

If he’s not training Skye or briefing Coulson, if they’re en route to a mission, he spends part of the trip in the cockpit, going over parameters of the next op with her. As a specialist, he’s had flight training, though he isn’t as adept as she is, and sometimes, she even leans back in her seat, relaxed, and lets him take the controls. Those quiet few hours with her now and again, they help him focus. They keep him on his toes. Even if all he does is recite the mission back to her and she gives nothing but an “Mmm” in response to his questions, it keeps his head clear, his mind sharp.

And sometimes, he brings her a cup of tea or coffee and they sit and say nothing at all.

He finds that she’s the only one who understands what it’s really like to be on this plane, on this team, with a bunch of people who have next to no training, a bunch of people who have serious issues with following orders in the field. She’s the only one who understands what it’s like to be a specialist, trained to work alone and get the job done, and suddenly be responsible for a trio of not-field-certified-agents like they’re your own siblings. She’s the only one who knows exactly what it’s like for him.

-o-

And I’ve been looking at the stars

For a long, long time

I’ve been putting out fires

All my life

Everybody wants a flame,

They don’t want to get burnt

And today is our turn

-o-

He’s not sure when it happens. Or why it happens. All he knows is that one day, sitting with her in the cockpit of the plane, staring out at the inky black sky around them, he’s struck by her reflection in the glass. Somewhere along the way their easy familiarity and camaraderie has shifted into attraction. He knows this because instead of paying attention to cloud formations or landmarks in their silence, he finds himself surreptitiously tracing lines on her face.

It’s easy to put that away, shove it off to the side, and focus on their work. It’s what they’re trained to do in SHIELD. You put your feelings away, and you do the job.

It occurs to him that these feelings could simply be the product of him being cooped up in this small space with so many attractive people, and all of his energy being put into missions that just lead to more missions. There’s no real resolution, no real release, and he isn’t used to having that kind of feeling while stuck around so many other people. One night, after a mission, he commiserates with her about the lack of resolution to their jobs, how they never know exactly where the artifacts end up, who interrogates the prisoners, just what happens. He’s never complained about his clearance level before, and a part of him, ever the soldier, feels guilty for it now. Maybe she feels a bit of the same frustration, a bit of the same need for release, because she sets the plane to autopilot and offers to go a few rounds on the mats with him to work off some of that extra energy.

He’s grateful. And when he managers to pin her, just once, he sees a smirk that lets him know maybe the attraction isn’t all that one sided after all.

-o-

Days like these lead to...

Nights like this lead to

Love like ours.

You light the spark in my bonfire heart.

People like us—we don’t

Need that much, just some-

One that starts,

Starts the spark in our bonfire hearts

-o-

So when the **Beserker Staff** (that’s how he thinks of it now, bold and larger than life, it’s made such a huge impact on him) affects him so strongly and she invites him into her room with a bottle of whiskey, he can’t help but walk through that door. He knows there isn’t just going to be whiskey, that they aren’t just going to talk about their feelings. He locks the door behind him.

He doesn’t fool himself for a minute into thinking whatever happens between them over the next couple of months is by any means love. It’s different than that. It’s fast and hard and necessary. It’s scratching an itch that won’t go away. It’s allowing his mind to blank for that blissful short amount of time. It’s letting her chase away all the bad things in his head. It’s probably all the same for her. And he expects that people like himself and May don’t know how to let themselves fall in love anymore. It’s not part of the job, so they don’t do it. They don’t give enough of themselves in a relationship for it to work anyway.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t moments on missions where his mind starts to wonder about her. He knows that she’s as strong as he is, faster than him, better than him in a lot of ways. He doesn’t have to worry about her. So the first time it causes him to lose focus, he’s surprised. And he makes sure it never happens again. He does what a specialist does best – compartmentalizes.

The May he knows in dark rooms, behind shower curtains, and under layers of sheets, that is a different May than the one who can break a guy’s wrist in two seconds. The May who makes him squirm and beg under her touch is not the same May who makes a high value target squirm and beg under her touch. He forces himself to make that distinction over and over again.

And it works.

Because he’s not the kind of guy who’s going to fall in love with a teammate. He’s the guy who’s going to get the job done. He’s not the kind of guy who’s going to let a spark lead to a fire. He’s going to stamp it out.

-o-

This world is getting colder.

Strangers passing by

No one offers you a shoulder.

No one looks you in the eye.

But I’ve been looking at you

For a long, long time

Just trying to break through,

Trying to make you mine

Everybody wants a flame,

They don’t want to get burnt

Well, today is our turn

-o-

Except for those times when it’s just the two of them sitting in the cockpit in silence, drinking their coffee and staring out at the sky in front of them. It’s times like that when he lets his mind wander, consider what it would be like to grow old and grey in a safe warm house somewhere with the woman next to him. He doesn’t think that they would necessarily be happy, like one of those romantic comedy couples, but he thinks they could be content, just the two of them. It’s those times that he allows his mind to fan the flames.

-o-

People like us—we don’t

Need that much, just some-

One that starts,

Starts the spark in our bonfire hearts

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is on a playlist at work, and for some reason, it led me down this particular path. I cannot hear this song without thinking of Ward now, strangely enough.


	3. Clock

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Clock.

-o-

Thump.

“Unf.”

Ffffip.

“Urgh.”

Putting the whole of her strength behind one final blow, Skye reeled back her right arm, taking care to keep her left up in a defensive position, and thrust forward in a hooking motion. The punching bag in front of her swayed from side to side in a few millimeters of motion. That was it. She couldn’t even make the stupid weighed bag move. This physical training was getting her nowhere. She wanted to go back a couple of weeks to Ward insisting she learn how to dismantle a gun. Once she proved herself adept at distinguishing the safety, they had moved on to her hitting things. With her hands. She apparently wasn’t very good at it.

“What is the _point_ of this? I can’t even move the stupid bag!” She huffed in annoyance and began an attempt at unwrapping her hands.

“You moved it. A little bit,” Ward told her evenly. He watched her yanking at the material on her hands in a way that could take her fingers off if she wasn’t careful. Or if she had a stronger grip. He was starting to worry about her. She went through training in waves – one week, she wanted to do it all at top speed and the next week, she was frustrated and irritable, complaining about all of his methods. Not for the first time, he thought that it might have been better if May had been the one to work with her.

He quickly dismissed that thought. May would probably be even harder on her. May would probably want her to do her training on the outside of the flying jet or something like that. They had only been together for a few missions, but May still didn’t particularly trust Skye.

He focused again on his rookie, deciding his plan of having her spend the rest of their training session lifting weights to build up her strength wasn’t going to appeal to her. She was the kind of person who wanted skills, not necessarily strength. She hated feeling helpless as much as he did. She tried to yank a piece of fabric that was stuck in between several more winding bands with her teeth. Ward stifled a laugh as she pulled on it and failed to move it.

“A little help here, Tin Man?”

It wasn’t helping that more often than not he found himself smiling in amusement at something Skye said or did while they were working together, distracting himself from the task at hand. There was something about her… mainly that she was like no other rookie agent he had ever met before.

“Yeah.” He crossed the mat to her in two quick strides, and she held her hands out to him with a sigh and a far off look. As he unwound the wrap from one of her hands, she fidgeted from one foot to the next. She really wasn’t good with waiting. “Have you been working on disarming like I asked you to?”

“Fitz won’t let me practice on him anymore. He said something about the risk of serious head trauma and being unable to finish his work not being worth it.” She rolled her eyes and gave a shrug, and he smiled again. “He only hit his head on the wall once. It’s not like I did any real damage.” She shook out the hand he had finished unwrapping, and began to unwrap the other on her own. “I really didn’t. He tripped trying to get away from me.” She tried to ignore the fact that Ward was now watching her like a hawk. He probably thought there was a specific technique she should be using to get her hands free of all this fabric. “It wasn’t my fault there was a chair behind him.” Why couldn’t she stop talking? Ward had that effect on her. She clamped her mouth shut and focused on removing the rest of the fabric, then balling it between her fingers and squeezing tight, trying to stop herself from opening her mouth again. “How long does it usually take rookies to learn to disarm someone?” And she failed. So instead of looking at him after asking the question, she toyed with the strips of fabric in her hands.

Ward found himself trying not to let a grin break through. Skye was definitely not the patient kind. She would not be good at any kind of stakeout. “It really depends on the rookie. You know, a lot of ops agents start off in similar fields before they’re recruited – they’re soldiers, guards, some even do wet work for other organizations before we turn them.”

“Wet work?”

He hesitated at the curiosity in her tone. Not typically something many SHIELD agents talked about early on. “They’re assassins.”

“Oh.” Skye could hear the smallness of her voice, but she tried to cover it by widening her eyes and peering up at him with a smile. “How long did it take you to disarm someone?”

He faltered again, taking a small step back from her. “Well… I had a big brother, so… most of my childhood.” Ward tried to make it a joke, but for all of her faults, Skye is more perceptive than most. He didn’t have the best family life. And he tried really hard to forget that the way he grew up made him into a SHIELD agent. Lucky for him, she doesn’t push this time. With another 20 minutes set aside for their training session, Ward decided that talk about getting around someone dangerous might be the way to go. Skye could get a gun from someone, throw them off balance, but she still wasn’t ready for hand to hand combat. Not by a long shot. “But, you know, sometimes, if you don’t have the proper training, it’s better for you to distract them, get passed them, run away.” He shifted his feet in her direction, trying to mimic how close she would be standing to an adversary.

Skye waved a hand in the air, side stepping him. “I’m totally good at distractions. Seriously, you have no idea how many times I snuck friends in to clubs when I was a teenager.”

“Batting your eyelashes and showing some cleavage to a horny bouncer is not the same as trying to distract a trained professional.” He countered her movements, shifting every time she did, so that he was between her and the door.

“Is that your way of saying I’m not pretty enough to distract a professional hit man? Cause not to sound conceited or anything, but I’ve been told I’m pretty hot.” Skye realized a second to late that he was distracting her once he had a hold on both of her wrists. She dropped the fabric in her hands to the mat. “Oh, is this part of today’s lesson?” She batted her eyelashes at him for good measure.

Ward chuckled and tried not to think about cleavage. Or Skye batting her eyelashes. And he chose not to agree with her assessment of her hotness. Out loud. Letting go of her hands, Ward told her, “Pretend I’m a guard, and it’s my job to keep you from leaving this room. You want to make me look the other way so you can get by.”

“Just look the other way? That’s it?”

“Hey, I thought we’d start small. You want to try to slow me down too, that’s fine.” He knew the expression on his face could only be described as cocky. He couldn’t help it. Skye seemed to bring that out in him. But the way her eyes narrowed and the muscles near her shoulders tightened, he brought out her competitive streak too. He released her wrists and waited to see what she would come up with.

She tugged awkwardly on her tank top, pulling the neckline down slightly farther. “So… cleavage isn’t going to work on you?”

With a smile Ward told her, “I think I can resist.”

“And telling you something like, oh my gosh, Director Fury just walked through the door wouldn’t work either, right?”

“Right.”

Sighing, Skye crossed her arms in front of her. “And since I don’t have my phone or my laptop, it’s not like I can hack the security system for an alert to distract you…”

“You shouldn’t be hacking the bus anyway.”

“Hypothetically speaking, you’re a guard in some remote facility not my SO on the bus.”

“Then why would Director Fury be walking in?”

“Touché, robot.” Skye rewarded him with a smile. She actually enjoyed this assignment more than the hitting. Distracting someone was something she could do. She just had to figure out what Ward’s weak spot would be. She thought back on their most recent missions, tapping her chin. He had a bit of a short fuse, usually not a whole lot of patience, but he always made sure to put her and FitzSimmons first in the field. He was like a cute, but angry, guard dog. She let her eyes drift away from Ward as a plan formed in her mind. She could see Fitz and Simmons though the doorway, gears and wrenches in Fitz’s hands while Simmons followed him with some sort of camera and tool box. She didn’t know what they were doing, but it gave her something to focus on.

“Skye?”

“Yeah….” Still letting her eyes follow the scientists, she said, “You know, it would be so much easier to distract you if you were like Fitz. I could just make up something about Simmons being naked, and he’d shut his eyes to be a gentlemen.”

“Fitz is not the kind of guy who’s going to be keeping you in a room.” Ward watched her warily. She shifted her weight from one foot to another like she was testing her balance or something.

“Do you think he’d look though? Or do you think he’d really keep his eyes shut?” She gestured to the door, making her movement appear halfhearted, even lackluster, like this was just a normal part of the conversation, turning slightly so that she could see Ward just out of the corner of her eye, and she had him. He turned his head just so to the side, and she launched her fist at his face before sprinting around him, realizing only after she got half way to the door that her punch had actually landed.

“Skye!” Ward sounded more amused than angry.

“Ohmygodward!” Skye’s cry was shrill and scared as she turned and ran back to him. His head was tipped back, one hand holding on to his nose. “I hit you!” She cringed. “I’m so sorry.” She watched in disbelief as Ward smiled broadly at her. “Wait… I. Hit. You. Ha!” Skye gave a tiny hop, pumping her fists in the air. “Seriously, are you okay? I didn’t break anything did I?”

Ward shook his head, a few drops of blood spotting down to his chin. “I’m fine. Bloody. Not broken.” He waved his hand behind her shoulder. “It’s alright, guys. We’re fine.” Skye made the mistake of turning her head to look over her shoulder, where Fitz and Simmons stood eying the situation with more than a little trepidation. Ward promptly grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her back. “You’re not supposed to let your guard down, rookie.”

“Seriously? You have a bloody nose!”

-o-


	4. Dram

Conversation Hearts

-o-

Dram.

-o-

The liquid in the glass in front of him was a deep amber. He prodded the smooth edge of the container with one finger, watching the vibrations from his forceful push move through it. He knew, deep down, that you weren't supposed to drink when you were upset. He reckoned everyone probably _knew_ that. It didn't mean everyone listened to the sage advice of psychologists and addiction counselors. But he was Scottish. And drinking was as natural to him as breathing. He could probably down the whole bottle if he wanted, and not even feel it. But he wouldn't. Fitz didn't need the headache in the morning.

Or to be buzzed in the lab three hours from now as the case may be.

The rest of the bus was silent. Dark. Still. He suspected that May was awake somewhere. Probably snug in her seat in the cockpit like some sort of bird in her nest. He didn't get the feeling that she slept a lot. He suspected she enjoyed the solitude. Once upon a time, he would have as well. But he wasn't used to it now.

No, what he was used to was someone sharing up his space, thinking aloud, bouncing ideas off him, telling him what an idiot he was, chastising him for not understanding some sort of weird biological property that no one in their right mind would have committed to memory. And today, Fitz had come very close to losing that constant chatter, that constant presence, that near extension of himself.

Hence, the bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar next to him, and the tumbler of fluid he was playing with in front of him. He took a sip, twisted in his seat, almost certain he had heard the sound of shuffling footsteps behind him, and prepared to head back to his bunk. When he didn't see anyone in the darkness, he turned back to the bar, and proceeded to watch the glass like it was going to jump off the bar top away from him.

He could see it. It would just jump away, spilling its contents on the carpet below, maybe even shattering the glass if there was enough force behind the jump. Sad eyes. Regretful smile.

Except that a glass of whiskey doesn't have eyes or a smile. Does it?

Fitz sighed and downed the rest of the glass before he could think about it. And then he poured himself another. Just a dram more. That was all.

There was a shift behind him as he capped the bottle, and a thin ray of light spilled into the room from the hall.

"Oh. I didn't think anyone else was up."

Fitz turned on his stool again to find Skye, open laptop in her hands. He toasted her with his glass and gestured to the seat next to him. Skye wasn't unwelcome company. He had seen her face. She would understand why he couldn't sleep. Well, she would understand some of it anyway.

"Not sleeping?" She asked as she slid onto the stool next to him.

"Na' tonight." Fitz spun the glass around, watching the amber liquid swirl and reflect the light from her computer screen. She was probably busy trying to hack into something. She shouldn't even bother at this point. They had her all set to lock out, no matter what she did. He wasn't entirely sure why Coulson was so intent on keeping her skills in check. Skye's computer had saved them several times, and she admitted that what she had done for the Rising Tide was wrong. Fitz didn't think she'd make the same mistakes again.

"That busy brain of yours having trouble turning off?" Skye tried to joke, but at the sullen expression on his face, she sighed. "Where are those glasses?"

Fitz reached across to the other side of the bar, pulling one from the rack below, set it down, and uncapped the bottle for her. He only poured enough to be considered a shot, then slid the glass in her direction.

Taking a sip she grimaced. "How can you drink this stuff?" When he just shrugged, she took another sip and made another face.

He gave a small smile at her expression, a tiny quirk of his lips, and told her "guess I'm jus' used to it."

Skye coughed into the back of one hand, her eyes watery. "I kind of think this is what drinking gasoline must be like." She downed the rest of her glass quickly though, and reached for the bottle. "No one should drink alone though."

They clinked their glasses together and each took a sip before he cleared his throat awkwardly and she gave another tiny smile.

"What're ye workin' on?"

"Nothing, really." Skye turned her laptop in his direction, showing him a screen with a paused game of the old school version of tetris. "Sometimes, if I can't sleep, I try to wear my brain down by making all the different pieces fit together. I don't even hack the game and cheat. I just play until the pieces start to blur together or my fingertips can't take it anymore." Skye paused, twisting her lips to the side in thought. "I could hack for days, so my fingers don't usually wear out before my mind does. I lose a lot when it gets to the higher levels. I guess my reaction time isn't that fast. But I like that I can just keep starting over until I get it right."

"I think we'd all like if we could jus' start over 'til we got things right." Fitz ran his finger around the rim of his glass, but he didn't say anything else.

Skye hit the new game button in the top of the screen and shoved the laptop right into his hands. "Play a game." A green L-shaped block began to descend from the top of the black box in the middle of the screen, and Fitz half-heartedly hit an arrow button until it collided with the edge and dropped to the bottom, settling into place. "Maybe it'll help. A distraction." Skye shrugged, even though he wasn't watching her now, his right hand hovering over the keys, moving the next block, and the next, into place.

Fitz couldn't remember the last time he played a computer game like this. He'd played some of the newer video games, but there hadn't been a lot of time for things like that lately. "I don' think I've played this since I was a kid. In school."

"Oh, so, like, a few months ago?" That joke got a full smile from him, the corners of his eyes crinkling and everything.

"Ye know, yer younger than me."

"I know. I don't know what I'd do without you and Simmons here. Everyone else treats me like I'm 12." She realized too late what she said. "I mean," she faltered.

"I know."

Fitz missed an easy move of the long straight piece into the perfect slot, and he took another sip of his drink, still keeping his eyes on the game instead of the girl next to him. The silence stretched out between them, and he wanted to tell her that Simmons had always been better at puzzles than him, much to his surprise, but he drew his lips together in a thin line, and didn't say anything else while he moved up first one level, then another. The movement of his fingers over the keys became mechanical, his thoughts wandering away from Skye and the bar.

The muscles in his face slowly relaxed while she watched him, and she moved the bottle away, beyond his grasp, figuring he didn't need anymore, even if he could handle it. She wanted to ask what it's like, to know someone so long and so completely. She saw how he was after Simmons jumped, after Ward jumped after her. It was like the whole of his heart was out there in the open air, plummeting to the water below. She could have imagined that a piece of Fitz had just vanished in the time that they didn't know whether Simmons was going to be okay. Skye's never had someone else take up that kind of emotional residence in her soul before. She thought that one day, these people might, if she could let them. She wanted to ask how he's dealing with the possibility of losing his best friend in the entire world every single day that they are on this plane, heading to missions, but she didn't know how. Instead, she watched him play.

Forty minutes later, the pieces fell too quickly for him to keep up, and when his score floated across the screen, he turned to her.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

His eyes were red. Skye didn't know if it was because he was holding back more tears that he hadn't shed earlier in the day or if it was because exhaustion was starting to set in. She didn't mention it, just closed her laptop and hugged it to herself. With a sigh, he stood, drinking the last of his dram of whiskey and taking the glass to the sink.

"I'll clean up," she offered, knowing that with his penchant for being in the lab just after Simmons so early in the morning, he was only going to get a couple of hours of sleep, if he could manage it. Fitz nodded again, the movement of his head jerky and unsure, before he headed toward the hall that would lead to his bunk.

"Skye?" He asked from the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad yer here too."

-o-


	5. Explosion

Conversation Hearts

-o-

Explosion.

-o-

It was supposed to be something akin to routine. There were no guards to take down. The alarm system had been circumvented by Skye and Fitz’s combined skills. Nothing was supposed to go wrong. Which is why, of course, something did.

There was no warning that they had tripped any kind of security protocol. No flashing lights. No buzzing alerts. No security personnel calling in. It was sudden and loud and disorienting. The walls and the ceiling of the suspected CENTIPEDE lab were there, and then suddenly, they weren’t. _BOOM!_ Everything was crumbling rock and dust and acrid smells and darkness. Nothing but darkness for the two young women inside.

-o-

“Simmons? Skye?” Coulson’s voice shook over the comm line after the deafening echo had come through, but all he got back was static. “Ward? Fitz? You guys got anything on the ground?”

“That’s a negative sir,” Ward responded, his tone even, measuring his words carefully.

Fitz, standing at his side with wide eyes on the building in front of him, didn’t respond. He didn’t have any words. It was like the earth had shifted. The building seemed relatively intact on the outside – except for the smoke billowing from the lower level windows, the long crack through the façade on the right corner that ran from the roof and disappeared into the ground below. And oh, right, the entire structure seemed to be tilted to one side now, as though there was nothing to hold it up.

“May, get us down there. We need to see how bad the damage is.” Coulson didn’t punch the surface of the holotable, though clenched fists at his side showed that he really wanted to, and May did nothing more than nod her head before she made her way to the cockpit. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, and that was the only indication of any emotion she was going to give.

-o-

It was the smell that woke her. It was like someone had struck a match right under her nostrils. She blinked, her eyes taking in little more than dust and darkness around her. As she shifted her position on the ground, her hand landed in a pile of shattered glass. Upon closer inspection, she found the floor around her littered with it. Very carefully, she pulled herself up, narrowly missing hitting her head on the filing cabinet that was crushed between two shelving units above her. It must have saved her from the worst of the blast.

A series of images assaulted her. Lab tables and stainless steel countertops. Microscopes and computers. Fire.

The blast.

In a lab.

Where she and Simmons were supposed to be retrieving whatever information they could.

Simmons was down here somewhere too.

“Simmons?” Skye’s voice came out thin and raspy, not carrying very far in the cracking and popping of electrical lines coming apart or the creaking and groaning of wood and metal protesting against the sudden onslaught of heat and force. Skye cleared her throat and tried again. “Simmons?” She coughed, doubling back over.

What she wouldn’t give for a bottle of water and some aspirin.

When the coughing subsided, Skye shimmed her way out from under the file cabinet. It felt like her entire body was on fire as well, but with very few flames actually surrounding the place, she was pretty sure she was safe on that front. She was just going to be very sore from the force of the blast for a very long time. It took her longer than she thought to crawl from the safety of the space under the filing cabinet. Her body protested every movement, so when she was able to see beyond it, she sat in place, panting, taking in the rubble around her.

Wires hung from what used to be ceiling. It didn’t look like there was a single surface not covered in splintered wood, crumbled concrete, or glass shards. There was no longer a door to walk through. Just a caved-in hallway. One of the metal lab tables was awkwardly twisted in on itself in the far corner of the room. It looked like maybe it had taken the full brunt of the surprise explosion. Skye tried not to think of what the blast could have done to a human body.

“Coulson?” she whispered, hoping the always reassuring voice in her ear would respond. Nothing came through but static, so she pulled the tiny ear bud out and put it into one of her pockets. Those things were so uncomfortable. And it wasn’t helping the ringing in her ears subside.

She had to find Simmons. And then a way out.

-o-

It wasn’t the smell that woke her. She was used to burning chemicals. She did work with Leopold Fitz who had a propensity with experimenting with explosives as a teen. She could still remember the lecture they received from Agent Weaver when they had accidentally brought down the wall between their lab and the next at the Academy when they were testing a prototype for a pocket sized explosive device. It was only meant to blow a tiny hole where the doorknob would have been.

So, no, it wasn’t the smell that woke Jemma. It was the buzzing. It was that awful hum that emergency lights created when backup generators were activated. She had never liked that sound. It never allowed her to sleep. And God, if she didn’t want to sleep. She imagined the way she felt right now was how people with a severe hangover felt. Her head was pounding, her stomach lurching with every breath, and she had an awful taste in her mouth.

When it hurt to open her eyes to the darkness around her, Jemma was fairly certain she was suffering from a concussion. She laid still for a moment to attempt to get her bearings, shifting her muscles experimentally. She didn’t think anything was broken.

She remembered coming to this facility with the others to retrieve whatever data they had on their recent experiments with the super soldier serum. The facility was abandoned. Fitz and Skye had got them in. Ward had given the all-clear. She and Skye went to the lower level lab to get the paper files she hadn’t been able to hack. Fitz and Ward had been on the ground floor, trying to find any evidence of when the location had last been used.

Jemma remembered that there were no samples of anything in the refrigeration unit. The filing cabinets were mostly empty. There had only been a handful of notes that were in some sort of code. Skye had turned on the computer in the room, hoping it was on a different network than the one upstairs. And then… Heat. Noise. Lots of it. She remembered someone screaming. That might have been her. How long had she been unconscious?

Jemma brought her wrist up in front of her face with a near herculean effort, but the screen of the watch on it was cracked, the minute and hour hands frozen in place. It was of no use, so she very slowly forced herself into a sitting position. It was agony. Everything ached as though she had been put through the spin cycle of a washing machine. Her vision swam, and she had to hold her head in her hands for a moment to get her stomach to calm and the room around her to un-blur itself.

When she was able to sit up fully and pull her hands from her forehead, the fingertips on her left were slick with what she could only presume was her own blood. She very carefully prodded her hairline, searching for ripped skin, and what she found was a small piece of glass that had become lodged there. Under normal circumstances, a small mirror, some antiseptic, and a pair of tweezers would have been ideal, but since she didn’t have that….

Jemma shrugged out of her sweater, now filled with the scent of smoke, and turned it inside out. She held the garment tightly in her bloodied left hand, and with her right, she reached up and swiftly pulled the piece of glass from her scalp. Her breath came in sharp gasps from the pain, and she clamped her balled up sweater to the wound. The pain helped to clear her head, as she had expected it to, and she cleared her throat, attempting to speak for the first time.

“Fitz? Ward? Can you hear me?” Receiving no response, Jemma upped the volume, her heart pounding as strongly as the pain in her head. “Skye?”

She heard a shifting in the debris somewhere ahead of her, so bracing herself on the metal table next to her, Jemma shifted to her knees, woozy from the recent explosion and bump to her head, and peered into the darkness, hoping for a friendly face.

“Oh, thank God.”

-o-

“Jemma? Are you okay?” Skye wobbled through the debris, her shoes crunching on the bits of glass, and crouched in front of the other woman, but Jemma threw an arm around her, almost unbalancing the two of them in relief to answer her question.

“I’m alright,” she answered in a small voice. “You?”

“I’m good.” Skye pulled back and gestured back the way she came. “Some furniture blocked the worst of it.” Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened. “Your head!” She reached for Jemma’s sweater, but Jemma lowered it so she could see the damage.

“It’s fine,” Jemma assured her, ever the doctor. “The wound itself feels superficial. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot though. I actually think the more pressing matter is that I might have a slight concussion.” Having said that, Jemma promptly turned from Skye and vomited into a pile of old lab equipment. “Yes,” she coughed, wiping her mouth on the back of one hand, “sorry, I definitely have a concussion.”

“Okay.” Skye stood back up, beginning to pace. “We have to get out of here. All we have to do is find an opening, and we can get out.”

“It’s not going to be that simple.” Jemma attempted to lean against the twisted metal table near them for support as she stood, but when it shifted, Skye had to help her to her feet. “We can’t just crawl through any opening; we don’t know how far it goes. And-“ she began when Skye opened her mouth to speak, “we can’t just start moving things; we could make the whole place collapse; we don’t know how badly damaged the structural integrity of the building actually is…” Jemma trailed off, a far away look in her eyes. “It probably would have been better if Fitz had been down here with you. He’d know what to do,” she said softly. She blinked slowly, and Skye shook her arm.

“Hey, you’re the smartest person I know. We can figure this out.”

-o-

“How’re we doing?” Coulson set his jaw after asking the question, his eyes following Fitz’s every move as the engineer paced with hands full of electronic equipment. The engineer was taking various readings, his attention focused on the screen in his hand, not the voice of the man in his ear, or the group of agents behind him.

“I don’t know, sir. He hasn’t said anything in the last ten minutes since he started scanning… things…” Ward shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what the rest of them were supposed to do.

“Okay! I think I foun’ an entry point tha’ won’t collapse on ‘em!” Fitz trotted back to them, a wide grin on his face.

-o-

“No, Skye.” Simmons gestured from the stool Skye had made her sit on. “If you move that beam, you risk bringing down that section of flooring there.” She moved her unsteady finger from the splintered wood Skye had one hand leaning against and traced a path to the top, where it was propping up a section of buckling ceiling tiles.

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Skye took a step back, taking a breath. She had been following Jemma’s instructions for the better part of 20 minutes, and she had only moved two cement blocks and a chair. Everything else she touched was too dangerous to move. This was tedious. And the smell in the lab was getting worse. Simmons was still unsteady, periodically prodding her hairline with her fingertips to make sure she wasn’t bleeding again, her skin taking on an ugly green hue that Skye didn’t like. They needed to get out of here.

“Skye, you should take a break,” Simmons called softly. “I’m sure the others are searching for us.” What she didn’t say was that there might be no way for the two of them to safely dig their way out of the building without bringing the whole structure down on their heads.

“You’re right. That engineer of yours probably figured out a way to get us out, and they’re halfway through by now.” Skye smiled at her, hopping up to sit on the twisted metal cabinet next to her. She forced the smile to stay on her face for a few more seconds before sighing. “What’re our odds, really?”

“Of getting out of here?” Jemma asked her, her hands playing with the fabric of her sweater in her lap. “Better than good, not as good as great? I’m not really sure in the math, to be honest. But Fitz’ll find a way…” She trailed off, her eyes looking at something far away, and Skye was sure Jemma was thinking of something having to do with her other friend. She noticed that she made no effort to deny that he was her engineer. Maybe they really were in trouble. Jemma always rolled her eyes and put off Skye’s teasing about their friendship.

“It’s going to be okay,” Skye reassured her firmly.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Simmons wondered faintly. “If I hadn’t insisted that we could find something here-“

“Hey, none of us knew this place was rigged to blow, okay? Ward and May took turns at surveillance for the last four days, Fitz and I tracked down every bit of a paper trail we could find on this place. The only way to know for sure if CENTIPEDE left anything behind was to search the lab. Coulson signed off on everything.” Skye smiled wryly. “We all played a part in this.” Skye looked around them and sighed, then used the toe of one of her shoes to push some of the glass shards around on the floor. “We might have made a mistake, but we’ve got the best team, right? They’ll get us out of here.”

“Yes.” Jemma sighed as well. “Of course, you’re right. You know, Fitz actually had to solve a problem like this for one of the early field assessments we took.”

Skye’s face fell. “Didn’t you tell me you guys failed all of your field assessments?”

“Well, yes. But his idea was a really good one.”

The pair were silent, no sounds around them except for the walls settling into place all over again. A slight creaking occurred, and the covering on the air vent two feet away from them gave way, crashing into a pile of concrete.

“Maybe they’ll just lower May down the air vents on a giant pulley, and she’ll just carry us right up into the plane,” Skye joked, taking off her own jacket. The temperature had begun to rise, and she was beginning to worry that her earlier assessment of there not actually being any fires around them was wrong. What if they suffocated before anyone could find them?

“Air vents…” Simmons echoed thoughtfully. She twisted in her seat, almost pitching herself off the stool as a result, to peer behind them into the darkness. “That’s the door we came through, over there, right?” She pointed in the direction where most of the rubble was centered, where Skye had been attempting to play a reverse game of tetris for the better part of a half hour. Not waiting for her response, Jemma continued, “which means their refrigeration was on that side of the room,” she pointed to the area where Skye had found her, hopping down off her stool, “and the tables were through the middle, the computer over here,” she gestured vaguely with her hands into a dark corner that neither of them had ventured, “which means, back where you were, you said some furniture protected you from the blast, that’s where the emergency showers, the eyewash, all of that would be.”

“Jemma, what are you thinking?” Skye stood next to her, trying to see what she could see in the darkness.

“I’m thinking I might have a way for us to get out of here.”

Before Skye could ask her what the plan was, Jemma was off, weaving her way through the twisted furniture and charred remnants of the lab. Her boots crunched glass with every step, but she kept going, even when she swayed right into a shelving unit.

“Whoah. Maybe you should slow down a second,” Skye called, rushing after her, then grabbing her arm to hold her steady.

“Ugh. Being concussed is very problematic.” Jemma moved her head from side to side gingerly, blinking slowly again, before she pulled Skye along to the back of the room. “Have you seen anything that looks like a wrench…. and a fire extinguisher?”

-o-

“You want us to go through the sewers?” May deadpanned. Ward and Coulson looked skeptical. “Even I can’t twist my way out of a bathroom waterline.”

“You dunnae have to. Tha’s the beauty of it.” Fitz shook his head, his fingers swiping rapidly across the tablet in his hands. “This is an old buildin’, built righ’ on top of an old underground filtration system. Probably why the one side o’ the building was so easy ta bring down. All we have to do is follow the old filtration line through the existin’ sewer system, and remove the panelin’ of the floor that should lead us righ’ up ta the lab’s water supply.”

“How are we going to _remove the paneling_?” Ward questioned. “Don’t you really mean we’d have to put a hole through the floor of a building? A building that’s already been compromised by a bomb?”

There was a pause while Fitz looked around at all of the disbelieving faces. “Well, yes. But I think we can do it safely with a localized charge. We should be fine.”

“You want us to blow up the floor?” Ward looked incredulous, throwing his hands up in the air and glancing at Coulson for support, but the older man just nodded his head, his jaw set.

“Ward and I will stay above ground to hold off the questions from local authorities.” He indicated his head in May’s direction. “Get him whatever he needs.”

A smile quirked at the edges of May’s mouth. “Let’s go get our girls, Fitz.”

-o-

“I couldn’t find anything that looked like a wrench.” Skye scrambled over the side of an overturned shelf, hopped down, and found Jemma crouched on the floor, examining the bottom of the eyewash station with the light of the tiny flashlight Ward had insisted Skye carry in her jacket – the same jacket that Jemma was now kneeling on so that she didn’t shred the fabric of her own clothing any more than she already had. “I did find a crow bar; I’m not entirely sure why that would be in a lab.” Simmons shot her an absent smile over her shoulder. “And I found you a fire extinguisher.”

“Good. Give me the extinguisher.” Simmons held one hand out for it. “You should probably step back after.”

“Wait, what?” Skye noticed, a little too late, that Simmons hadn’t been just examining the bottom of the wash station, right where the drain was. No, she had been hard at work mixing a few containers of chemicals that she had found in the lab. “What are you doing?!”

Simmons set the extinguisher on the ground next to her. “We have to get underneath the wash station. I’ve got to get this section of flooring out of the way so we can see what’s underneath.” Jemma said it all matter-of-factly as she took the crowbar from Skye next and pried up the section just around the drain grate. She was able to use the crowbar to pull the grate completely away, handing it to Skye over her shoulder.

“How are we supposed to get in there?” Skye tossed the grating away, not looking to see where it landed.

“We won’t. Not yet.” Jemma wedged the fire extinguisher into the now empty space. “Once I pour this,” she pointed to the last jar of a substance the name of which Skye was sure she wouldn’t be able to pronounce, “on the other compounds, it will ignite, and the force, combined with the pressure of the fire extinguisher, will blow open the space below. We might have to use the crowbar to make the opening big enough, but you and I aren’t that big; we should be able to drop down fairly easily.”

“Drop down to where?” Skye was starting to worry about Jemma’s sanity.

“The building is on top of an old sewer system.” Jemma smiled grimly. “Easiest way to get out of here. In theory.”

“In theory.” Skye nodded. She thought about their options. They could wait for the team to get to them, but they had no way of knowing how long that could take, and Simmons needed to get out of here. She wasn’t sure what their air situation was going to be like the longer they waited either. Not to mention, they both needed water. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat. And she was pretty sure by the way Simmons had been tapping her fingers on her thigh that the other girl had to pee. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Skye stood and Jemma handed her the crowbar. As soon as she dumped the contents of the final jar on her makeshift chemical burn, she stood, grabbed Skye’s hand and dragged her behind one of the overturned tables. They ducked their heads together and waited for about ten seconds before there was a sizzle, a pop, and then a low boom. It wasn’t as strong as the earlier explosion that knocked them off their feet, but it was enough to cause a vibration in the pieces of furniture around them.

“I’m going in first,” Skye told her when she swung the crowbar into the opening, hacking away at the splintered materials below. “We don’t know how far that drop is, or what’s down there.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that far, and it’s probably just a little damp. Maybe some sludge.”

“Sludge?” Skye grunted as she swung the crowbar again. “Is that a technical term?”

Simmons just laughed, and brought her fingers up to check her head wound again.

A few minutes later, and Skye’s jacket, one that she was definitely not going to be able to hold on to at this rate, was used to line one side of the hole in the ground. She braced her hands on it, one of them still awkwardly clutching the crowbar, then placed her legs through the opening.

“Skye, make sure you bend your knees to help brace your weight as it drops to the floor, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“And Skye?”

“Yeah, Jemma?”

“Be careful. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay.”

Skye had still only managed to do one pull-up in her training with Ward, but she held on with all of her strength for a long moment before straightening her arms and letting her weight drop. Her shirt snagged on the edge of a piece of concrete, but it barely ripped through the hem as she fell into the space below. There was a slight splash when her boots hit the damp ground, but there was nothing as thick as sludge. Her knees jolted from the impact of her feet hitting the ground, and she wasn’t sure that Simmons was going to be able to hold up her own weight when she came through.

“Skye?” Jemma called though the darkness. She tossed the flashlight into the space, and Skye caught it with one hand.

“It’s okay. You were right. It’s not that far down. It does smell pretty terrible though.”

Simmons very slowly made her way into the space, trying to mimic what Skye had done, but when she landed, bent knees, she teetered on her feet and would have fallen if the other girl hadn’t caught her.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. So which way should we go?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Fitz spent more time with the building schematics and the maps than I did. Um, give me a second?” Jemma spun in a circle, trying to get her bearings. And then she promptly leaned over and threw up. “Oh, that’s unpleasant.”

“Are we going to need to get you a CAT scan or something?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll just need rest. Really.” Simmons looked around them again, trying to gauge where the entrance to the sewer system would have been from the street. “I think it’s this way.” She let Skye give her the flashlight, and the two linked arms while they trudged through the unidentifiable substances around their shoes.

They walked in silence for a few meters before Skye finally said, “for what’s it worth, if this was a field assessment, I think you would have totally passed. What happened in Fitz’s plan?”

“Oh, he had us use chemicals to create a second explosion through the collapsed tunnel, which worked, but there were enemy guards on the other side. I took a fake bullet to the chest to block him from the enemy.” Simmons shook her head. “He was so surprised when the faculty advisors announced my failure that he just stood there, ended up getting shot as well. It was stupid really. We should have just ducked out of the way, made a couple of chemical bombs to toss at them or something. We weren’t thinking.”

“You took a bullet for him?” Skye said it in her sing-song voice, the one she used for teasing.

“A fake bullet,” Jemma corrected automatically, but she sighed and shrugged. “He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t let anyone kill him if I could stop it.”

“Right.” Skye nodded her head quickly, her mind spinning. “You jumped out of a plane for him too. And you knocked out a superior officer for him. And-“

“I get it Skye, thank you.” Jemma’s tone made it clear she didn’t want Skye to press the issue.

“I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to talk about your feelings, now would be a good time. We’re alone in a sewer. It’s just me and you, perfect time for some girl talk.” A light bouncing off the walls ahead of them indicated otherwise though. “Simmons, turn off the flashlight!”

She turned off the light as Skye raised the crowbar over her head, the two of them edging closer to the wall, peering ahead of them into the darkness to try to get a good look.

Simmons couldn’t catch her breath. Skye’s finger slipped along the handle of the crowbar, but she made sure to press Simmons behind her. As the lights came closer to them though, they heard a familiar voice.

“All ye’ have ta do is pu’ tha charge right below the pipeline. We should be able ta get ‘em out in no time.”

“Fitz?” Jemma whispered. “Have I started hallucinating? Is my concussion that serious?”

“I didn’t hit my head, and I hear him too.” Skye cleared her throat, and against any kind of training that Ward had attempted to instill in her, she called into the darkness, “Fitz? Is that you?”

“Skye? What’re ye’ doin’ down ‘ere?”

Fitz and May stopped in front of them, lights shining in their faces. Simmons shied away from it, groaning, hands covering her eyes.

“Simmons blew a hole in the floor with her fancy science, and we climbed down.” Skye shrugged like it was no big deal. “Also, we think she has a concussion.”

When Simmons leaned over and heaved, but nothing came up, she added, “I definitely have a concussion. It’s rather annoying, actually.”

“Let’s get you back to the bus then,” Fitz snapped out, pulling Simmons from Skye’s side, and running his fingers over her head, looking for the wound. Simmons, rather than protesting as she had with Skye, just leaned into his side and allowed him to lead her through the sewer.

“So, what were you guys going to do?” Skye asked May as they trailed behind the scientists.

“We were going to blow a hole in the floor and have you guys come out down here.” May looked disappointed that she didn’t get to blow anything up.

“They really do share a brain.”

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word for this chapter was suggested by Salkri Kachemench over on FFN.


	6. Fear

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Fear.

-o-

There wasn’t much that Ward was truly afraid of. Not anymore. His life had been filled with enough blows that there wasn’t much that could break him. But standing in front of the door to Coulson’s office on the bus, just weeks after “joining” his new team, and Ward’s mouth is dry, his hands a little shaky. He’s not sure what to expect.

Ward has been the dutiful little soldier. He questions the way Grant Ward, solo SHIELD agent, would question authority. But he never goes too far. He exudes confidence, cockiness even, but he defers to authority and plays by the rules just like he’s supposed to. He acts like he has no idea what the scientists are talking about; he’s just the guy that drops the enemies after all. All he’s supposed to know how to do is point and shoot. And lie. He doesn’t let on just how observant he is, how much he’s gleaned about all of them. He can’t imagine that Coulson has him figured out. He can’t.

Lifting one hand, Grant knocks three times on the door with the knuckles of two fingers. He doesn’t wait for Coulson to answer, just pushes open the door. He’s been expected, so he doubts he’s going to be interrupting anything. And he’s right.

Coulson is seated behind his desk like some sort of high school principal. He’s got the paperwork spread out in front of him, even the manila folders with their carefully printed labels. Not for the first time, Grant wonders if Coulson is playing the part that’s expected of him as well.

He waits for Coulson to say something to him, doesn’t even offer a questioning “sir” for worry of a reprimand. Yes, he’s actually worried about being reprimanded by Coulson. He’s not sure how that’s happened. His fingers curl and unfurl at his sides. Grant itches to cross his arms, but he knows body language experts see it as a sign of defiance to authority, a sign that they are not receptive to the conversation at hand. He doesn’t want to give Coulson an edge in this conversation.

He tries to mimic the posture of someone like Jemma Simmons. She’s someone who is open to anything. Despite her position in an agency that deals with everything super secret and super deadly, Simmons is one of the most open and trusting people he’s ever met. It’s odd. He kind of admires her for that. He relaxes his posture like she does when she’s speaking with Skye or Fitz. He presses his weight back more firmly on his heels, cocks his head slightly to the side, then realizes that it appears as though he’s trying to stare at a spot above Coulson’s head. He straightens himself back up, just slightly, trying to look at Coulson head on. He doesn’t want to appear as though he has anything to hide.

Because he doesn’t. Not when he’s in character.

He’s Agent Grant Ward. He might have the highest marks in espionage to come out of the Operations Academy other than Romanoff, who didn’t even technically have to attend the Academy, and he might not be a team player per say, but he’s supposed to be on Coulson’s team _because he was invited_. It’s supposed to be an honor.

“Do you have a problem with the way this team is run, Agent Ward?” Coulson asks the question without looking up from his paperwork.

“No, sir?” Is that what this is about? Coulson is worried that Grant isn’t going to play by his rules. Really? Hasn’t he heard talk of that enough?

“Are you asking me or telling me, Agent Ward?” Coulson still doesn’t look up, his pen crossing a T and dotting an I as he goes on to the next line on the paper.

Irritation flashes across Grant’s face, and he’s grateful that Coulson still hasn’t tried to look him in the eye. He’s having a flashback to his father correcting the way he spoke as a kid, and he didn’t appreciate it then, just like he doesn’t appreciate it now.

“I don’t have a problem with the way you run your team, sir.” Ward makes sure his tone is even, measured, a little cocky. He wants Coulson to see him as the guy who’s used to taking the ball and running with it. He doesn’t want Coulson to be too annoyed with him though. “I just worry that so much of the team has so little experience in the field.”

“You and May both,” Coulson mutters under his breath, tucking the pages in front of him into a folder.

Ward has to stifle a smile at that, and since he knows Coulson and May have a history, he adopts her stance instead. Feet apart, head straight, hands clasped behind his back. He’s a good little soldier all over again when Coulson finally looks at him.

“Is that why you’ve volunteered to be Skye’s SO? You worried about her?” There’s something in Coulson’s eyes that is more than just his team leader persona, more than his school principal shtick.

“Agent May suggested it. She thought Skye would benefit from the training new cadets get.” Ward shrugs as if it is no big deal, as if he has been training rookies for years. He knows that Coulson knows the truth. He had been in enough trouble on Garrett’s team that he had never been trusted with a rookie of his own.

At least, SHIELD thought he had been in trouble. The truth was Garrett submitted enough disciplinary write ups to look like he was the agent who could handle the cadets who were roughest around the edges. Garrett trained anyone assigned to his team to make sure they could handle the “work”. And if they couldn’t? Well, his team was routinely assigned to some of the most dangerous missions. Things had a way of working themselves out for his old SO. Ward had learned that a long time ago.

Ward’s hands are still pressed tightly together behind his back, and he swallows as Coulson regards him thoughtfully. He can feel himself starting to sweat. It doesn’t matter how good of a liar he really is, no one has ever looked at him quite like Coulson before. It’s in his eyes. How much this team means to him. How much he cares about what they’re doing. How important it is that Skye is a part of all that. How he wants to help them all be better. How important it is to him that this team is a family.

Ward doesn’t really get it. Families have never really been his thing. He just wants to blend in and do his job. All he has to do is play his part for the next few months and get Garrett the information he needs.

“Try not to be so hard on her, Ward. Skye isn’t like you. She didn’t have the training you did.”

The words land unspoken that if Ward pushes too far, he might break the new girl. And even though Ward has long been able to point and shoot without a thought, breaking a girl who just wants to belong to something isn’t his idea of successful completion of his mission. This is one time when he and Coulson might actually be on the same page. Ward isn’t trying to push her too far, he’s just trying to keep her at arm’s length. She’s the one person on this plane Garrett didn’t get him background information on. She’s the one person on this plane that he hasn’t prepared himself for. And he’s worried that she’ll be able to see through him long before Coulson does. She gets that same look in her eyes. She and Coulson are the kinds of people who make you want to bare your soul to them.

Ward isn’t sure how much of a soul he has left.

“Right. Sorry, sir. I was just trying to prepare her.”

“Maybe start at step one. Not step five.”

Ward waits, muscles burning because he’s eager to shift his weightt from one foot to another, but he doesn’t want to betray his discomfort any more than he already has. Coulson sighs and rubs the center of his forehead, just between his eyes. Ward tries not to think about the fact that this guys was dead a year ago and brought back to life. He tries not to think that a resurrected SHIELD agent is sitting in front of him, placing his trust in him, worrying about his working relationship with a member of this fledgling team. He tries not to think about the fact that Fury himself is the one who ordered this guy back. Fury is the one who gave him this team. Fury trusts this guy implicitly.

Couslon is, by all accounts, a good agent, but Ward’s found that he’s an even better man.

And Ward is here to do nothing but betray him.

He waits for the other shoe to drop, for Coulson to mention that he knows he’s up to something. But the other man just waves him off, dismissing him from the room, saying nothing.

Agent Grant Ward tells himself that he has absolutely nothing to be afraid of as he walks away.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear was suggested by Blubo over at FFN.


	7. Guilt

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Guilt.

-o-

“Dammit!” It’s the fifth time a glass fragment has ripped right through his gloves and into the skin of one of his fingertips. He’s bloody sick of it. He’s got scratches all over now. He looks like he’s been taking care of a bloody feral cat instead of repairing the damaged plane. “I’ll be back,” he spits out at the few men who’ve been helping them with all of the welding and soldering the bits of metal back into place. No one pays him any mind, goggles and ear plugs blocking out the sound of their equipment and the sight of him walking away.

He makes his way to the lab. Most of the equipment is surprisingly intact, but the room is still in a light shambles, though Fitz and Simmons have both taken turns at spots of repairs. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sadness on Simmons’ face when her gaze raked across the bullet holes in the common area, or the fear when it landed on the splatter from a stopped pair of ICER bullets in the lab doors. She made him explain over and over again about who was shooting at whom. She hadn’t taken her eyes off May for a solid five minutes after that. They were supposed to be assessing damages, but Simmons couldn’t stop staring at her.

_Help May patch the holes._

Easier said than done. Bullets hadn’t just torn through the sides of the ship, shattering glass and damaging supplies. Hydra had ripped through SHIELD like it was its own personal machine gun, splintering teams, causing decades of research and security to be lost, leading friends to turn against one another. It was quite possibly the single most damaging coup in SHIELD’s history.

Fitz rummages through the drawers, trying to find a new pair of gloves since he’s ripped yet another pair wide open, rendering them useless, but gives up and slams the cabinet shut. They need to conserve their supplies. They don’t know when they’ll be able to get more. They have no budget from SHIELD now. Much of The Hub is shot to hell too. He’s just going to use his bare hands from now on. If he has to have Simmons pick bits of glass out of his hands later with a pair of tweezers, he’ll deal with it then.

Turning, he prepares to exit the lab, and almost runs smack into the ninja-like Melinda May. He has a fleeting thought that he needs to start paying better attention to his surroundings. You never know when a Hydra agent might sneak up on you. Not now. You might not even know the other person in the room is a Hydra agent. The noise of drills and pneumatic tools at work in the distance bring a reminder of gun fire.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Three successive shots with shaking hands, and he can see the guy drop to the floor, even though his vision was blurry from tears at the time.

His stomach turns in the span of a moment, and he rushes to the sink, spilling its contents down the drain. It’s nothing but a bit of water and bile. He hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day. He knows he needs to actually eat, but his stomach just keeps turning over and over and there is so much to do that food is, for the first time in a long time, not something he cares about.

“Sorry,” May says softly, “I was just coming to change my bandage.”

She gestures to the wound on her arm. No stitches means she’s pulled the slowly healing scab yet again, fresh blood soaking through the old gauze. She’s probably gone through as much gauze as he has gloves. Manual labor can’t be good for recent gunshot wounds. He doesn’t look her in the eye when he rinses his mouth and washes his hands. At least they’ve got some of the plumbing up and working now. The filtration system is still intact. Not much else is.

“It wasn’t because of you,” he mumbles in the direction of the floor, drying his hands on his shirt when he can’t find a towel, before pulling a roll of gauze from another cabinet.

“I know.” May sighs, taking the gauze from his outstretched hand. “I didn’t mean to alarm you though.” She keeps her expression blank and carefully controlled as she takes a seat on a table and begins to unwrap her old bandage.

Fitz fidgets, one finger trailing along the edge of the cabinet in front of him. There are things he wants to ask her – what was Director Fury like one-on-one, what was Coulson like before he was leading the team, did she suspect Garrett before the rest of them, why did she try to shoot him when she could have just talked to him, but most of all, would killing strangers get _easier_? He doesn’t say anything though. He just runs his finger along the edge before using his other hand to tap out a rhythm, realizing too late that his other hand is the one with all the shallow cuts from the glass bits. He winces, squeezing his fingers into a fist to distract himself from the pain. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to get close to May, that still doesn’t trust her, that understands why Coulson is so angry with her, though he still isn’t sure about the extent of what she did, but as he watches her struggle with the gauze, he takes a step closer to her and takes it from her fingers, unwinding fabric from her upper arm slowly and methodically. May’s hand hovers above his for a moment, unsure, then she drops it into her lap.

He doesn’t like the sight of blood, never has, but after the days he’s had recently, a little blood in a tiny round hole on May’s arm isn’t going to be enough to make him faint. He only grimaces at the small bullet wound once before recovering his composure.

She doesn’t say anything for a stretch, and he sneaks a glance at her face every so often. She’s stoic as ever, but now, Fitz knows there’s something else there. It’s behind her eyes. He can’t tell if it’s fear or something else. He thinks that after the events of the last couple of days, maybe there’s a little of that behind all of their eyes now. He doesn’t take quite as much care as Simmons would if she was here with May. He yanks the last vestiges of the bandage from her arm, tossing it into a growing pile of detritus in the corner. All of the dangerous materials that have been shot up and pulled out, he doesn’t think he has to follow “hazardous waste” protocol they usually follow for blood at this point; it would be a losing battle.

Fitz applies a fresh coat of some sort of antibiotic ointment that Simmons always puts on everyone’s wounds, no matter what it is. He’s sure that’s what he’s supposed to do. Neither of them say anything for a long moment, but he can feel May’s eyes on him now. It’s like she’s studying him.

“Thank you.” Her tone isn’t quite as quiet and controlled as it was before. There’s an edge to her voice, a catch in her breath.

Fitz shrugs in response, winding the fresh gauze around her arm, probably a little tighter than necessary.

“I wasn’t talking about this,” she tells him, matter-of-factly, but not unkindly.

“Oh.” His word isn’t something he says in surprise or fear or sadness. It’s more like resignation at this point. A reflexive exhalation. He should have known when she walked in here that they would be talking about this, no matter how much he was trying to avoid it. He sighs. It’s a small one, but it’s out before he can stop it.

“What you did, I know how hard that must have been for you, but I wouldn’t - we wouldn’t all still be here if you hadn’t. I would have lost that fight.” She places a hand on his arm, and it’s probably supposed to be comforting, but her skin is cold, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. He twitches away from her, not comfortable with the contact. Not from her. Not right now. He finishes up with the gauze as quickly as he can, his ears ringing with shouts and explosions that have long since stopped. Swallowing hard, he tries to push the echoes of the fight from his mind, but it’s difficult. He doesn’t really know how he’s still functioning, only that he is.

May’s eyes are still following him as he puts the rest of the gauze away and cleans up the few supplies he’s used to patch her up. He knows what she’s picturing as she watches him – the shaking hands, the tears. He’s out of his element here. He knows that he’s always been more comfortable in a lab. He never even wanted to leave the lab. He can’t help but wonder though if Hydra would have been able to get to him, make him talk, much sooner if he was still back in the safety of the Sci-Ops buildings. If Jemma hadn’t convinced him to take this job, he very possibly would have been tortured for information at this very moment. So would she. Or –

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to push the images that have been assaulting his mind for the better part of his day somewhere to the back. Images that Garrett planted in his mind of Jemma being brainwashed by some sort of machine. Images of scientists he knew at the Academy with various limbs impaired. Loved ones held hostage to get them to cooperate. He can worry about them later, when he’s trying to sleep.

“It’s… difficult. And you probably feel guilty about it. But – “

“I don’t,” Fitz cuts her off, facing away from her now so she won’t see that he’s struggling to hold back tears. “I don’t feel guilty.” With a shuddering breath, he turns to face her again. “I just don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s something we have to do.” He sees the man in a SHIELD uniform falling over and over again, like some sort of instant replay. He remembers Garrett’s directive to shoot him in the knee caps, the implication that his best friend was being tortured for her knowledge. His eyes meet hers. “And I didn’t do it for you.” It’s the most direct he’s ever been with May, and if this was any other day, he probably would have been afraid she’d hit him.

“I know.” May doesn’t smile at him, but there’s something in the set of her face that makes him think this is supposed to be encouraging. It’s like she’s proud of him, what he’s done, his admission. “And I know you’ll do it again when you have to. It changes you. And I’m sorry for that.”

When she turns and leaves him alone in the lab, Fitz doesn’t entirely know what to think. He didn’t lie to her. But he doesn’t believe that she really understands. He doesn’t feel guilty about killing a man working for one of the most evil of evil empires. He doesn’t feel guilty for helping to stop those people from killing his teammates. And he doesn’t feel guilty for helping to keep them from getting to Simmons and Triplett. He feels guilty for being too scared to do it sooner. He feels guilty for entertaining the wisp of a thought of almost giving in to Garrett if it meant that he could save Simmons from a similar fate. He feels guilty for the split second of hoping Jemma was already dead so that Hydra couldn’t get to her. He feels guilty that he can’t fix the haunted expression on Skye’s face, or Coulson’s, or Jemma’s. He feels guilty that he couldn’t do more, couldn’t just fix everything for all of them. There were so many other things for him to feel guilty about that shooting someone doesn’t even make the list.

Fitz watches as May and Jemma walk by the doors, Jemma keeping plenty of distance between them, while one of the SHIELD agents (was he even supposed to be thinking of them that way now) helping them with repairs directs their attention to a problem. It is Jemma, not May, who chances a look over her shoulder, her eyes finding his across the room. She doesn’t offer him a smile like she usually would, but her posture changes, physically asking him to join them. He nods his head, steels his nerves, and goes back to work.

_Time to start patching the holes._

-o-


	8. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of only two canon divergent chapters. Set right around "Turn, Turn, Turn" it's a question of what it would have been like if Garrett had gotten his hands on Fitz.

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Hands.

-o-

_You know the reason The Beatles made it so big?...'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That's what everyone wants. Not 24/7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche...or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can't hide._

_-David Levithan, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist_

-o-

She has always been able to exhibit more patience than the other people around her. Maybe it’s because her interests have always been in biology and chemistry, and things rarely happened instantaneously in those fields. Research and experiments could last for years in her profession. Jemma has always been perfectly content to spend hours watching cells divide and replicate, change shape, looking for patterns in them. She’s been just fine with spending days or weeks on the same project, even spending months going over old notes searching for that one missing piece of the puzzle.

But when your best friend has been missing for two weeks because he is being tortured (possibly) into submission in some secret Hydra facility somewhere, patience is no longer a virtue. Instead, patience is a fucking insult people hurl at you when they think you’re unmanageable.

Jemma lost count of how many times the others told her she needed to let Skye work, how many times Ward told her she needed to calm down and clear her head or she would be no use to them, she lost count of May’s sympathetic looks.

It was Day 16 of the search for Leopold Fitz when one of May’s sources, she won’t say who, finally gives them the information they need. There is a surveillance feed on the facility where Fitz is being held. Skye can hack in.

When Skye starts to work her magic, it’s Ward who suggests that Simmons shouldn’t be in the room.

“I beg your pardon,” she hisses at him. Other than the sound of Skye’s fingers clacking on the keyboard in front of her, the rest of the room goes unearthly silent while Simmons stares him down. Unlike so many others, she isn’t afraid of him. What was he going to do? Throw her over his shoulder and forcibly remove her? “Don’t you think you’re going to need a medical opinion on his state?” She asks, her voice high and shrill, her eyes hard. She’s an instant away from slapping the concerned look from his face when May’s hand lands on her shoulder.

“She stays,” May tells the room flatly. “She knows him best. She can help.” Her eyes flash at Coulson when he opens his mouth, likely to protest that decision, but he sighs when his gaze meets hers, closing his eyes briefly before turning his attention on Skye.

Simmons stands very still, grateful for May’s hand on her shoulder. It’s a steadying presence she didn’t know she needed, and she takes a tiny step closer to the other woman. It’s only a few minutes, and if they were all still SHIELD agents and not technically terrorists at this point, Simmons would find it laughable that Hydra’s electronic security is so easy for Skye to hack from the comfort of her laptop. (Her laptop that is backed up by what is left of the Hub’s systems.)

“Okay,” Skye says, her voice halting at whatever she is looking at, “I’m in. You want me to put it up?” Her gaze falls on each of them in turn, and stops on May and Simmons, unsure. She had hooked her laptop up the Hub’s video feed when she started, but she doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, and she doesn’t want anyone to fall apart. Simmons can see it all over her face. She is all downturned lips and bright eyes, cheeks pale, breaths coming quick. Whatever she was looking at on her screen was bad. Very bad.

It’s May who answers for all of them, without looking anywhere but at Skye.

“Put it up.”

Ward doesn’t visibly react to the image as it comes up on the screen at the end of the room. He just stands very still on his end of the conference table. Coulson finches, but he recovers quickly. May tightens her grip on Jemma’s shoulder, fingers creating a pressure point for her to focus on. It’s Triplett who actually pulls out a chair and sinks into it. He’s seen a lot of people subjected to torture in his short time in the field, but he’s never seen someone look quite as defiant as Fitz does on the screen. It probably doesn’t help that he personally trained under the man who is responsible for Fitz being taken.

Jemma doesn’t buckle. She doesn’t scream. In fact, her throat all but closes and she has to stop herself from throwing up. She reaches up to her shoulder and grasps May’s hand, even though she knows that May isn’t one for comfort. It helps her.

“M- most of his. Lacerations. They are superficial,” she begins. Even from the grainy video feed she can see that the cuts are shallow, like paper cuts, meant to inflict pain, but not to cause real damage. They’re meant to motivate him. The discoloration around his one eye though, that’s worrying. She lets go of May’s hand, allowing it to slip from her shoulder, and takes a step closer to the screen, narrowing her field of vision, trying to get a better look. She points to it as she explains, “this is worrying though. I can’t tell how old this bruising is, but the swelling – it could cause permanent damage to his vision if the bone has been damaged. I – I don’t know how extensive.” There’s a tilt to the bridge of his nose that wasn’t there before either. “His nose is broken.” There’s dried blood, at least she is pretty sure it’s blood, above his lips. “He’ll need to have that prop-properly set soon. Before it causes. Real damage to his – his breathing.” The camera moves as he fidgets in his seat, and she sees someone else come into frame. It’s Garrett.

“Son of a bitch,” Tripplett mutters angrily. It was probably meant to be under his breath, but with them all so quiet and focused, it sounds like a near shout in the room.

“At least they’ve treated the gunshot wound to his leg.” Simmons falters, left feeling grateful that they simply shot him in the thigh and didn’t blow out both his kneecaps as Garret had originally instructed. “I’m not… Not sure how well - he might not be able to run when we get to him.”

With no audio, the group can’t hear what Garrett says to him, but whatever it is, Fitz is having none of it. He shakes his head from side to side, his mouth set in a thin hard line. It’s the most vehemently he can deny something while he is held in place by shackles.

“I’ll try to get that lip reading program up and running,” Skye says softly. “But if we don’t have a full view of Garrett’s face, it won’t be able to pick up what he’s saying.”

They watch in horror as Garrett grabs one of Fitz’s hands. His hands are strapped to the arms of the chair he’s in, but his fingers are free. The Hydra agent that they all thought they could trust just 16 days ago says something else to Fitz, and Fitz resolutely stares straight ahead, mouthing the word no. It’s not a difficult statement to read. Simmons covers her mouth with both hands as Garrett pulls one finger of Fitz’s hand back until it snaps. She doesn’t need audio to know what the bone sounds like as it is broken. Fitz’s fingers can’t bend that far back. He isn’t double jointed. She feels bile rise in her throat, but she swallows it down. She doesn’t need audio to hear the echo of Fitz’s screams in her mind either. She knows his voice as well as her own. Even with no sound coming through the room’s speaker system, his cries are deafening for her.

“We have to get him out of there. Now.” She can’t tear her eyes from the screen until she hears a ripping sound behind her.

“Agent Simmons,” Coulson says in the most conversational tone he can, “take Agent Triplett for a walk. Now.”

“But,” she starts to protest that she needs to see this even as her vision has begun to blur from tears, that she can help, but she realizes that the ripping sound was Triplett pulling one of the arms of the chair clean off. “Oh.”

Jemma hesitates, shuffling her feet as she walks over to him. Wouldn’t it be better if someone like Ward took him for a walk? Someone who could restrain him if needed? Triplett’s eyes aren’t hard and angry when they meet hers though, and she realizes that maybe Coulson thinks he’s not going to go completely off on mild mannered Dr. Simmons who is concerned for the welfare of her teammate.

She turns to Skye before she reaches Triplett, “You’ll tell me if anything changes, if you know anything?” She doesn’t ask anyone else because she knows Skye gets it, her concern. Skye knows that now that Simmons has seen him on camera, she isn’t going to rest until they have him back. She isn’t going to play politics or wait for the most secure plan. She’s going to go after him herself if she has to. And she knows Skye will too.

“Yeah.” Skye nods at her, not smiling, but the color has returned to her cheeks a bit. She’s motivated, Jemma has no doubt.

Agent Triplett rises from his seat and makes it to the door before her. He holds it open, head bowed, and she realizes it’s the first time he hasn’t looked her in the eye when they are within less than five feet of one another. He’s usually very direct.

Neither of them say anything as they walk the halls of The Hub. Simmons awkwardly nods her head and tries to smile at the few technically-no-longer-SHIELD-agents they pass, but she knows the smile can’t make it to her eyes. It’s too much effort to turn those muscles up when she can still hear Fitz’s screams in her mind. She decides, as they reach a deserted area of broken bits of glass and walls full of bullet holes, that it is best to give them something to focus on.

“Did they tell you anything about the facility where Fitz is being held before I got there?” she asks him point blank.

“Just that it’s a converted warehouse, like a lot of the CENTIPEDE buildings we’ve come across.” His voice isn’t as warm or as smooth as it usually is, and he wipes his palms on the front of his pants as though trying to rid himself of some sort of imaginary dirt, still facing away from her.

“Well, hopefully there’s more security footage Skye can access so we can – we can – get him out of there.” Jemma nods her head, attempting for confidence, but she wrings her hands in front of her betraying her anxiety, and she stops walking, leaning against one of the walls ridden with bullet holes. There’s a coppery stain on the floor to her right, and she wonders if it’s Hydra or SHIELD blood, if there’s any difference now. She fights to hold back a sob, and her arms ache with the absence of the person who usually comforts her in these situations.

“I’m sorry,” Trip whispers, his voice low and soothing as he leans against the same wall, just on the other side of the stain, one finger toying with the edges of a whole in the wall. “I should have seen it. I should have known that Garrett – “

“How? Garrett had everyone fooled. Even Coulson, who’s known him the longest; they trained together when they were both coming up in the Ops Academy.” Simmons shook her head, allowing her body to slide down the wall and settle herself on the floor, eyes still drawn to the copper on the floor. “You cannot blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.”

Trip follows her example and slides his way down the wall. While Jemma pulls her knees in, hugging them to herself, He stretches his legs out in front of him, allowing his muscles to pull tight. The burning sensation coursing through his skin gives him the illusion that he’s experiencing some semblance of the pain Fitz must be feeling right now. He’s broken bones, dislocated joints, torn muscles, even taken a knife, a few bullets, but the kind of pain he’s feeling now – the guilt at his not seeing Garrett’s mask and the guilt at the pain Simmons was clearly in – he didn’t even feel this badly when he lost members of his former team.

And thinking about losing members of his own team reminds him that Garrett is the man responsible for all of it. And the guilt and the pain is replaced by a white hot anger that he tries to harness. He plans on using it when he helps them save Fitz.

“How long did you work with Garrett?” Simmons finally asks him when she sees that he’s clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles are beginning to whiten. Coulson thought she could calm Triplett down, so she was going to try, even if every fiber of her being was screaming at her to do something to help Fitz. Logically, she knew that calming Trip enough to get him to effectively do his job would help Fitz.

“A few years.” Trip glances up at her quickly and takes in her disheveled hair and red rimmed eyes. “You and Fitz have known each other since the Academy though, right?”

“Yes.” Jemma’s mouth starts to quirk in a smile as she tells him, “After our first couple of assignments together, the professors, the other cadets, they all just started calling us FitzSimmons instead of Fitz and Simmons; we worked so well together.” She lapses into silence, thinking about all the different projects she never would have completed without him. “I don’t know if I know how to do this,” she gestures haphazardly around them, “without him.”

“You’re not gonna have to,” Triplett tells her. “We’re gonna get him out of there. Promise.” He smiles his million watt smile at her, and she sees shades of the man who helped her treat Skye with a bullet wound in her stomach, the same man who gave her a knife to arm herself against possible Hydra agents at his own expense. He’s in there. He’s just angrier now. Triplett reaches out one of his hands, and it’s steady now, even though they’ve only been seated out here for a few moments, and places it on her shoulder, his arm traversing the blood stain on the floor like a bridge over a red river.

Jemma doesn’t lean into his touch, she doesn’t allow herself to relax, but she does close her eyes to stop the tears that are threatening to fall.

“Realistically, what do you think our chances are of getting him back?” She’s come to the point in field work where she usually ignores the math and relies on blind faith in people like Coulson and May and Fitz, but she wants to know the truth. She wants to prepare herself for the worst.

“100 percent. We are getting him back. I’ll make sure of it.” Trip squeezes her shoulder just a little bit tighter, but she doesn’t open her eyes, and he thinks he hears her suppress a sob. “Those people back in that room? Half of them are legends, Agent Simmons. Coulson was brought back after being killed by a god. May is the Cavalry. I don’t know Skye all that well, but what you and Fitz did to keep her alive, I’m pretty sure she’s all in for him too. And Ward? He’s got to be as pissed off as I am that Garrett is on the other side. That’s motivation. And sometimes that’s better than a team of a thousand agents. We will get him back. I’ll walk in there and get him out myself, alright?” She still doesn’t open her eyes, but he watches as she slowly nods her head and takes a few shallow breaths, her chest shuddering with the effort. She’s staving off a panic attack, so he asks something he thinks will calm her down. “What will you do? When we get Fitz back and he’s all patched up, what’s the first thing you’re going to do while he’s recovering? You gonna kiss him senseless?” He tries to tease her, thinking that will do the trick, and it does.

Jemma lets out a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a bark of laughter. She sniffles before she says, “Fitz and I are friends. Very best friends. He doesn’t like to be touched very much. I – I don’t know…” She trails off, blinking away her tears as she opens her eyes, her cheeks slightly pink.

“Yeah, you two are just friends like Agent May is just a pilot,” he quips, sliding his hand from her shoulder to around her neck to attempt to bolster a little more confidence in her. She had done her part in calming him down, even if all she really had to do was keep him away from the video screen that had Garrett’s face on it; he isn’t going to let her fall apart.

Jemma sighs and goes silent, staring at the spot on the floor between them. She doesn’t offer up any more denials, knowing that they are all useless. What she does or doesn’t feel for Fitz, what he does or doesn’t feel for her, isn’t really the issue anyway. The issue is that he’s important to her, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to deal with it if she can’t get him back. The red in the carpet stares back at her. She is reminded that she doesn’t know whose blood it is, and if she voiced that aloud, Trip would probably say it didn’t matter. She doesn’t want Fitz to wind up a casualty that doesn’t matter. She wants to know that he’s going to be okay, that he’s solid and real, and not just a spot that no one is going to remember when this is all said and done. She wants him to know that he matters. To her.

It’s like when she was a little girl and she would go to one of those farmer’s markets with her mother. The sea of people looking at some of the more popular booths would overwhelm her and she would feel like she was nothing, no one, like she could be swallowed up in the crowd and forgotten. A pressure would settle on her chest and she would forget to breathe with the fear. But then, her mother would reach out, firmly grasp her hand, and lead her through to the other side, and Jemma could breathe again.

“I-“ she begins, faltering when she looks up to meet Agent Triplett’s eyes.

He taps his fingers gently on the back of her neck, encouraging. “Yeah?”

“I would hold his hand. I would tell him that he’s going to be alright. I would let him know I was here?” Jemma’s voice breaks again, and she clears her throat. “Most of all, I would just hold his hand until he didn’t want me to anymore.”

Triplett nods his head. “Then we’re gonna make that happen.”

It takes another three days, but they do. It’s Triplett who goes in and gets Fitz out while May and Coulson hold off Hydra members. Somewhere along the way, they lose Ward to the other side, and it doesn’t make any sense to any of them, but at least they make it back to the Hub and a waiting Jemma and Skye with an unconscious Fitz in tow. It’s Jemma who sets the broken bones in his fingers and bandages his cuts while he’s unconscious. And while they all wait for him to wake up, the rest of the team can continue with their work, but Jemma sits at his bedside and holds his hand while Triplett guards his hospital door.

-o-


	9. Incidentals

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Incidentals.

-o-

"Hey, AC?"

A sigh preceded the "Yes, Skye?" He probably would never get used to that nickname, no matter how many times she used it.

She spoke around the piece of chocolate she had just popped into her mouth. "Not that I don't love getting my dinner out of vending machines, and not that the clothes that I'm wearing aren't some of my favorites, but-"

"We're all going to need real food and a change of clothes?" he finished for her, his eyes still trained on the few stars he could see above them.

It was starting to worry her, just a little bit. He'd been sitting in that chair, staring at the sky for more than an hour while she worked on the coding for a program she hadn't quite been able to perfect on her laptop. She knew that Fitz and Simmons were still sitting on the edge of the pool; she couldn't tell what they were talking about, but they had been sitting with their feet in the water discussing something in hushed tones for quite a while. Every so often an accented word would carry her way in the night air. Since she hadn't seen him since his second bag of chips, she figured Triplett had probably joined them. Either that, or despite his mentions of being on vacation, he was doing some sort of safety walk around the perimeter of the building to make sure they were all safe. He was like a friendly little guard dog, that one. She thought he was going to fit in with their renegade team pretty nicely.

"Yeah, exactly. I know you said we need to take some time and regroup, but… I think we might need to make a midnight run for some supplies. It's LA, something's bound to be open." Skye shrugged, saving her work, and closing her laptop with a click. She might not have had her toothbrush or a clean pair of underwear, but she had every piece of equipment she'd need for her computer in her bag. It hadn't occurred to her that she would be on the run after leaving Providence with Ward, and now she was regretting that.

Even the others had only managed to grab a few ICERs and random supplies while they were getting out and away from the Army guys that had boxed them in. May was the only one who had actually packed her own bag, and Skye was willing to bet that it was full of nothing but standard issue black SHIELD wear and a gun or two. Maybe a protein bar, but that was probably gone by now.

"Okay." Coulson gave another sigh, and Skye realized he didn't have a working car.

"I'm sorry about Lola."

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

-o-

May pulled her seatbelt into place and glanced in her rearview mirror.

"When you said we were making a supply run, I didn't think we were all going," she told Coulson flatly, but he knew her well enough to see the blink-and-you-miss-it twitch that indicated she was trying not to laugh at the antics going on in the back seat of the car her mother had loaned her.

Fitz was squeezed between Triplett and Simmons, trying and failing, to appear completely at ease as he explained to Trip exactly why he was wrong about some law of physics having to do with sound. Trip had stretched one arm around the younger man's shoulders in an effort to not be squashed flat against the door, and he was sipping from a bottle of water in his other hand, a wide grin on his face, like he was amped for a cross country road trip, more amused than annoyed by Fitz's speech. Simmons, practically on Fitz's lap to give Sky enough room, was chattering animatedly with Skye, recounting their dealing with Colonel Talbot and his men at Providence, and every time she would gesture with her hands, her right would fly back, nearly hitting Fitz in the face, but he was so caught up in his rant at Triplett that he didn't even notice. Skye was the only one not attempting to scrunch herself into a smaller space, eying Simmons with rapt attention, one of her knees draped over the other girl's legs, her arm around her back, wrist colliding with Triplett's every so often over the headrests. They didn't look like highly trained operatives for a clandestine organization that protected the world; they looked like a bunch of college kids gearing up for a Friday night kegger.

May had a feeling she was about to chaperone a highly entertaining, if not somewhat annoying, late night trip for "the incidentals," as Coulson had explained to her.

"It was Skye's idea. She's the only one who doesn't have a single change of clothing. Trip overheard us and said he was tired of using all his cash on the vending machine, so he wanted to grab some food. Simmons said she wanted to make sure we were getting the proper allotment of vitamins. Fitz wasn't about to stay there by himself." Coulson shrugged in a what-are-you-gonna-do fashion, opening his eyes wide in an attempt to apologize without actually saying anything.

May rolled her eyes. "You realize we're probably going to be in there half the night."

"Good thing we're taking a vacation then. You can sleep until six instead of five."

-o-

May pulled into a parking spot in the mostly deserted lot, but before she let anyone out of the car, she activated the child safety locks and turned in her seat to face the kids in the back. Without consulting Coulson, she eyed each of them in turn. "We are not going to be in here for more than one hour. Do you understand?"

They nodded mutely at her.

"Good. We're going to divide and conquer. Simmons and I will tackle groceries and toiletries. Skye, you and Coulson are in charge of clothing and related items." May gave Triplett and Fitz a wary glance before rolling her eyes to the ceiling and adding, "the boys are in charge of any defense and technological supplies we might need."

Coulson nodded his approval. "We'll meet at the front of the store in 45?" Another muted nod came from the back seat before they all began babbling over one another.

"Sir, I don't think you and Skye know my sizes," Fitz began, cheeks coloring.

"I'd really like to have input on the kinds of food I put in my body," Trip told them.

"Shouldn't I be the one worried about the tech since my laptop's all we have?" Skye wondered aloud.

"Does anyone have any allergies?" Simmons asked politely.

"I feel like we should have seen that coming," Coulson remarked to May while the four of them continued to voice their concerns over one another. May smirked at him, 'I told you so' written all over her face. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the owner's manual, ripping out the last four pages and handing it to the young agents in the back seat. "Anybody got a pen? A marker?" At the confused expressions he was getting, he added, "Eyeliner?" Skye produced an eyeliner pencil from her back pocket after some awkward wriggling. Simmons had a pen from the hotel in her hair that she unwound. Triplett patted down his jacket pockets until he found a red marker that he must have picked up on one of his last missions. Fitz shook his head, and Simmons rolled her eyes, handing him her pen. "Make a list of what you want. You've got five minutes, then we're getting out of the car."

-o-

"You've got everyone's sizes, correct?" Coulson asked as Skye threw a package of men's black athletic socks into the shopping cart between them.

"Yep." She eyed the next section of shelving with something akin to glee. "Do you think I should go with a regular plaid print for Fitz, or do you think he'd want something with monkeys on it?" She didn't stop to consider that maybe she shouldn't be having quite so much fun picking out underwear for the team. If this whole SHIELD thing didn't work out in the long run, maybe she'd be a personal shopper.

Coulson gave a quiet chuckle and tossed a package of undershirts in Triplett's size into the cart as well, then added another pack for himself.

"Monkeys it is," Skye answered her own question, grabbing another package off the shelf and adding it to the growing pile. She surveyed the contents of the cart with a satisfied nod. "On to women's wear?"

"Lead the way, Agent Skye."

-o-

Simmons eyed the list of ingredients in the body wash she was holding in her hands. She shook her head in disgust and put it back on the shelf. At May's raised eyebrow, she explained, "it's little more than perfume; there's no cleaning going on there. We're better off sticking with the sample sized bottles the motel has provided us with. Or dish detergent."

May reached around her, picked up the cleanser off the shelf and set it in the body of the cart. "We can't live off sample bottles forever, Simmons."

"Yes, but that's-" She stopped at the look on May's face. "Right. Okay." Jemma moved down the aisle, pulling a package of razors from the shelf without looking at it, then dropping it in the cart. They wandered down the rest of the aisles in relative silence, picking up two tubes of toothpaste, a pack of toothbrushes, various bottles of shampoo, and an industrial sized package of protein bars.

Simmons made a face at the pack of protein bars, but May told her, "you never know when we might be locked down somewhere without a way to get to real food. Everybody keeps a couple of these on them, they don't starve to death while hiding out in a cave somewhere."

"You think we could wind up hiding out in a cave somewhere?" Simmons asked incredulously as a girl who couldn't be more than sixteen skirted their presence. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to May, "that seems a little extreme."

"It's my job to consider the extremes," May explained, leading her to the next aisle.

Simmons and May exchanged a look as they came face to face with a wall of condoms.

"I don't think we'll be needing any of these," Simmons informed her primly, speed walking down the aisle. She flinched and spun on her heel when something landed in the cart, but when she glanced inside, she realized May had tossed a box of tampons in.

"If my math's right, you and Skye will be needing those in a couple of days," May deadpanned.

"Oh." The flush on her skin deepened.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Simmons. You're a grown woman." May gave her a half smile as they made their way to the groceries.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed," Simmons told her quietly. "It hadn't even occurred to me. I don't even know what day it is."

"Tuesday."

"Right." Simmons rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. Of course May knew exactly what day it was. Her internal clock was probably never off by even a millisecond.

"It's alright. We've had a lot to deal with these last few days," May reminded her, one hand on the other girl's arm as they turned down another aisle.

-o-

"Do you have any idea why they would sell hunting gear at a store in the middle of Los Angeles?" Fitz asked Triplett. They had planted themselves in front of a glass case full of hunting rifles and bullets. He suspected the glass itself could be broken easily, kind of a flaw in their storage, really. "What are they hunting?"

"Not a clue." The salesperson stationed in this area of the store kept sending them suspicious looks. "We'd have to wait on a permit to get anything out of here," Tripp mused, turning his head to Fitz. "You got any ideas on other defensive measures?"

"Oh, you're asking my opinion?" Fitz feigned surprise. "You don't have an answer?"

Trip gave him a lazy smile, hands in his pockets. "You're the genius."

"Yes." Fitz smiled back at him. "Yes, I am."

Maybe this Triplett character wasn't so bad after all.

They wound up with a box of toy guns Fitz insisted he could modify to use the night-night rounds Triplett had managed to load one of their bags with on the way out of Providence and several knives just small enough that they didn't need permits to carry them. Triplett eyed a crossbow wistfully, but Fitz quickly steered him out of the sporting goods and into the electronics area to pick up additional flashdrives and a new external hard drive for Skye. Spotting a display of kids' walkie-talkies, he tossed three boxes of those in as well. He would be able to modify those to get them all on the same frequency over longer distances.

"What next?" Triplett wondered as he idly thumbed through a selection of DVDs.

"Arts and crafts," Fitz answered brusquely, taking charge of their shopping cart and wheeling them in another direction.

"Seriously?" Triplett trailed behind him.

"For an at home soldering kit, obviously." Fitz shook his head at the other man's tone. "Did you expect me to modify the toys with magic?"

"To be honest, you used parts from a jet engine to rig up spotlights of pure energy. I wouldn't be surprised if you could make a bomb out of silly string and a lamp."

"Well, that would just be ridiculous," Fitz muttered under his breath, but Triplett was rewarded with a big smile for his comment.

-o-

"Put it back," Coulson instructed solemnly.

"What? Why? We're at a motel _with a pool._ You can't expect us to not use the pool. It'll help us stay in shape." Sky dangled the garment in front of his face enthusiastically, and Coulson responded by looking at his watch. "Come on, AC!"

"This one's better." He picked up a modest one piece that looked like it was probably made for a teen girl training for the Olympics.

"This one's more fun," Skye shot back, the two piece on the hanger getting a swift shake for good measure. "Besides, how much would you pay to see Fitz's face if Simmons came out to the pool wearing this?"

"I think I'd pay more to see her face when you tried to get her to wear it," Coulson said with a smile. Simmons kept herself firmly layered and buttoned up. He was fairly certain that she would turn a very deep shade of red if Skye attempted to force a bright pink string bikini on her, and then likely stutter about research into Hydra being more important than a quick swim. Fitz wouldn't get to see her in it, and it would be a waste.

"Point taken," Skye sighed in defeat and put it back on the rack. She flicked through the jeans and tee shirts, pajamas and sweaters, undergarments and even gloves, that they had accumulated. "Sorry they don't sell suits, AC."

"I'll be alright." He loosened the tie he was wearing just a bit. "Ready to go meet the others up front?"

"Yep. I think we've got everything." Skye shuffled the torn pieces of paper in her hands. "I mean, Simmons and Fitz both wanted safety goggles, and Trip needs a new bulletproof vest, but I don't think we can pick those up here."

"Maria's promised to loan me a few things," Coulson reminded Skye. "I'm sure she'll send us a few vests. I don't know what those two think they're going to need safety goggles for."

"Can she get Talbot to send us the rest of our clothes?" she grumbled.

"I don't think Talbot's talking to her right now."

-o-

Simmons gently set a bunch of bananas into the cart, followed by a bag of apples and several bags of trail mix. May came back to her with a loaf of bread, a box of crackers, a box of plastic cutlery, and a jar of peanut butter. Simmons nodded and gestured for them to be added to the pile.

"We can't get anything that needs to be cooked or refrigerated, so I guess we'll just be ordering a lot of takeout?" Simmons mused as the other woman grabbed a case of bottled water from a display and slid it onto the bottom rack of their shopping cart.

"Fruit and nuts," May murmured. "I'm sure Triplett and Fitz will be thrilled with this."

"Fitz has a serious junk food habit, and I am not encouraging it," Simmons said hotly. "Did you know he actually keeps candy hidden in his bunk? What am I saying? Of course you do. You know everything that goes on."

May bit down on her tongue to keep from laughing. "This situation we're in, Simmons, a little junk food isn't going to hurt us." Having said that, she led her teammate to an aisle full of nothing but snacks and dropped bags of popcorn, M&Ms, and cheese curls into the cart.

"Do you have any idea how many chemicals are in these?" Simmons questioned, pulling the cheese curls from the cart. "I wouldn't even use these in the lab, much less encourage someone to ingest them." She placed them back on the shelf and grabbed a bag of regular old potato chips instead. "Better. Slightly." Simmons glanced down at her wrist, intent on checking the time before she remembered that she wasn't wearing a watch.

"Yeah, it's time for us to meet the others," May agreed. She waited a beat while they were walking before telling her, "You don't have to worry about him so much, you know. He's a good agent."

"I know he is," Simmons responded softly, "but none of us are really agents anymore, are we?" She didn't look at May as she added, "I can't help it. Worrying."

"I know."

-o-

Fitz and Triplett were the last ones to make it to the front of the store, where the others were currently going through their shopping carts and debating the usefulness of the items inside.

"You think it's a waste of money to get us all pajamas?" Skye was questioning May. "What d'you want us all to sleep in? I am not sleeping in my underwear if I'm sharing a room with-" She looked around at the assembled group, her eyes straying to the guys in particular. "Well, I don't know who I'm sharing a room with, so the pajamas stay."

"Why exactly do we need all of this?" Coulson's head was bent into Simmons and May's cart, and he emerged with an armful of makeup.

"Ooh, I like that color," Skye cut in, trying to snatch a container of blush from Coulson's hand, but he deftly moved it out of reach.

"Sir," Simmons began, "those are a necessity. May and I agreed."

"If we have to go undercover, it helps to get in character," May added.

"That's probably the only thing they're all going to agree on, isn't it?" Trip joked as Fitz chuckled. They were met with annoyed glares from all three women, so Fitz quickly busied himself with poking around in the cart with the food.

"Popcorn," he mumbled. "Excellent." He could feel Simmons glaring at him, but he pretended he didn't as he looked up and smiled at the group.

Coulson shook his head and made his way over to Triplett to flick through the items there. He nodded his head in approval at the walkie-talkies, but the confusion on his face was evident at the box of toy guns.

"Fitz said he can modify them to take the ICER rounds so we have a little bit more firepower," Triplett explained. "I don't really know how, but if anybody can do it, he can."

"Okay, looks good."

"It looks good? What do we need duct tape for?" Skye exclaimed, fishing out the extra large pack with three rolls of the silver sticky stuff.

"Don't knock the duct tape," Triplett said with a serious shake of his head.

"It's actually quite a useful tool in many situations," Simmons spoke at the same time.

"There are a lot of field applications," Coulson joined it.

Skye looked to May for support on this one, but the other woman surprised her when she agreed. "You never know when you might have to duct tape someone to the floor and torture them for information."

A woman pushing her baby in a stroller shot them an alarmed look and scurried away.

"Wow. That got dark really fast," Skye said. "We should probably get out of here before she reports us to security."

"Yep."

"Agreed."

"Let's go."

"That lane's open," Fitz gestured to the right.

-o-

Their cashier raised her eyebrows when she was told all three carts were going to be paid for by the man in the suit in front of her. He was accompanied by the strangest group of people she had ever seen. Well, at least the strangest group she'd seen on this shift.

"We work together. In town this week for a meeting," Coulson explained as Triplett and Fitz engaged in some sort of juvenile horseplay behind him with the action figures of Iron Man and The Hulk that were on display.

She nodded her head and smiled, but just kept scanning the merchandise without a word.

"Airline lost our luggage," May added, shooting a stern look at the boys who sheepishly returned the toys to their display.

Skye thumbed through a gossip magazine while Simmons read over her shoulder.

"Oh," Fitz snapped his fingers. "I forgot to ask, do you sell fireworks?"

"Not this time of year. Sorry." The girl shrugged, raising her eyebrows again as she scanned the assortment of knives and the toy guns.

"There's a themed presentation," May offered stoically while she bagged the items.

"What're you thinking, Fitz? Taking them apart to create handheld explosives?" Simmons asked, her eyes not leaving the pages of the magazine, forgetting that they were in line at a big box store where anyone could hear their conversation.

"Well-"

"They're just kidding," Coulson said loudly and sternly, effectively cutting off all talking. "Kids these days, you know?"

-o-

Triplett and Fitz pushed the carts out of the store ahead of them, Simmons and Skye following at a more leisurely pace, sharing the weight of a cart between the two of them.

"We're not taking them all out at one time like this ever again, are we?" Coulson asked.

"I will duct tape them to the beds in the motel rooms first," May deadpanned.

-o-


	10. Jog

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Jog.

-o-

It's not something she was ever very keen on – exercising her body. It was always her mind that was more important to her. But now, in this place called The Playground, Jemma finds that exercising her mind just leaves her thoughts circling in on themselves, settling somewhere between fear and guilt that often leaves her sobbing, so she takes to getting up in the middle of the night and spending hours in the gym to force herself into a state of exhaustion.

-o-

It was 3:47 AM when she rolled over for the umpteenth time that night. Days in this new place, trying to sleep in an unfamiliar room, walking in unfamiliar halls, she almost preferred that awful motel in Los Angeles. At least they had a pool. And cable. And bigger bedrooms. And each other. Sighing, Jemma threw the blanket from herself, picked up her elastic from the table and put her hair into a hasty ponytail. It only takes her moments to dress herself in what used to be standard issue SHIELD workout gear for all the other agents – black tank top, black pants, both emblazoned with the logo of the agency they were supposed to be helping Coulson rebuild from the ground up. She idly wondered if he would change the symbol now that he was put in charge as she pulled socks and running shoes on to her feet. It was a little strange. The amount of SHIELD logoed clothing in storage here in various sizes dwarfed her own belongings.

She made no noise as she walked down the darkened hallway. Even though everything was so unfamiliar and uncomfortable here, she had memorized the route from her room to the small gym meant to keep housed agents in shape. She'd also memorized the route to the kitchen and the bathroom, but she'd barely been eating and she hated going into the bathroom to shower unless she knew someone else was near.

The sound of the water rushing from the faucet made her shake. She knew that was normal, given what she'd been through, but she was beginning to worry about how long it would last since it was taking her longer and longer to force herself to jump into the shower stall and stick her head under the spray of the water. The first time she did it, she hyperventilated. She managed to calm herself down before anyone found her panicking, but it was getting harder to keep herself calm when she was in there by herself.

As she turned into the workout room, lined with blue mats and filled with a weight bench, a punching bag, a treadmill, and various other pieces of equipment, the soles of her shoes squeaked on the tiled floor. Jemma paused, her ear quirked, listening for any signs of movement. Explaining why she was utilizing gym equipment in the middle of the night was not what she wanted. She just wanted to be so exhausted that her brain would finally allow her to sleep without thinking of how she ended up here. When she heard nothing, she padded into the room and made her way to the equipment without turning on any lights.

Logically, Jemma knew that you were supposed to do a series of stretches before working out any of the muscles in your body to prevent injury, but just then, she could care less about straining a muscle in her legs or twisting an ankle. She stepped up onto the treadmill and pushed a series of buttons that would give her an easy pace with little incline. She wanted to run as long as she could until her muscles burned with exhaustion and she could collapse on the bed in her new room. Or at the very least, she wanted to run until she heard the others begin to wake, then she would stop and join the morning meeting.

One foot in front of the other. She breathed in and out easily, arms pumping at her sides. Her lungs had recovered surprisingly quickly after forcing herself to swim through 90 feet of water on one breath and pulling Fitz's weight to the surface with her. The pounding of her feet on the belt of the treadmill reminded her of the pounding of helicopter blades.

She pushed the button to speed herself up just a bit.

It was still an easy pace. She wasn't even out of breath. She jogged for several minutes, closing her eyes for a moment, but the blackness on the back of her lids made her think of the black of the almost complete darkness of the sea. She snapped her eyes open again, locking her gaze on the stark white walls.

The white of the walls here was almost the exact same shade of paint issued for the painting of the walls for things like medical pods that could be stored on hellicarriers or submarines. Her breath caught somewhere in the vicinity of her lungs, but Jemma forced herself to exhale slowly through her nose and take a deep breath in through her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. And she was back.

She pushed a button increasing the incline of her run just slightly, just enough to put in a bit more effort.

More.

_You're more than that._

Fitz's words continued to echo in her brain. His voice has been haunting her since she got here. She'd been having a hard time thinking of anything other than how he felt (feels, her brain corrects her automatically) about her, what he did for her, and where he presently was – asleep in a hospital bed being monitored by doctors who were not her, but had all been vouched for by the former director of the former SHIELD. It wasn't fair that they wouldn't let her see his charts, that they wouldn't take her input, that they wouldn't let her help him. He's only in the shape he's in because of her, and she would give anything, _anything in the entire world,_ to make everything okay again.

She pushed another button increasing her speed, her legs moving twice as fast as they were before. Her body could take it. She had every confidence in her ability to just keep running, even if she wasn't going anywhere.

Fitz wasn't going anywhere either, her traitorous brain reminded her. Fitz was currently trapped inside his own head, likely his own version of a private hell. She was living in hers too. They always had been on the same wavelength.

Up went the incline.

She missed him. She more than missed him.

_More than._

Up went the speed.

She wasn't sure that she was going to be a good enough agent without him. She wasn't used to having to work without him by her side anymore.

Up went the incline.

She began to lose track of her breathing, unable to keep herself calm and steady as she ran at this pace. Her breathing began to come in sharp gasps, her lungs burning, but she pushed herself harder. Her muscles stretched, but they weren't rubbery and spent yet, and she wasn't about to stop until that happened.

Up went the speed again.

The pace was punishing, but it wasn't stopping the images flicking through her head with each of the balls of her feet hitting the treadmill belt. When she couldn't take it anymore, she slammed her hand on the button to bring the machine to a stop, then grabbed the handrails on the sides of the control panel, bending at the waist, sobs racking her body.

"Simmons?"

She hadn't even heard the door open behind her. She was usually more observant than that. The scientist in her appeared to be on pause. Just like the rest of her life.

Jemma choked down her tears, but her stomach heaved unexpectedly against her, so she dropped to her knees on the treadmill, breath rushing out of her. Clearing her throat, Jemma forced her voice to sound some semblance of normal as she said, "yes?"

Her voice was too high though, almost shrill, and she winced before turning her head to the side at the feminine voice behind her. It wasn't low enough to be May. It could only be Skye.

"Hey…" Skye walked into her line of sight, dropping to the ground on the other side of the treadmill, her eyes huge and concerned as she peered at Jemma under the railing. "What are you doing?"

Jemma was glad that Skye didn't go for the old _how are you_ this time around. As horrible as she was finding her current state of mind, she was also so tired of people checking on her, worrying about her.

"I'm-" her voice gave out and she was forced to take a breath, clear her throat, to say "just, you know, jogging."

"Jogging?" Skye echoed, eyes still wide and concerned, but she gave a gentle smile. "That didn't look like jogging to me. When I jog, it's nice and easy, kind of lazy, just to burn some extra calories, you know? That looked like, to borrow a phrase from one of the nuns I used to know, the devil himself was chasing you."

"Yes, well…. No devil here, just me." Simmons quieted before she was forced to lie, her eyes beginning to fill with tears without her consent. "It's just me," she murmured to herself, dropping her eyes down to stare at the floor, her feet moving out from under her to find purchase on the floor, but she didn't rise, just hugged her knees. Skye didn't say anything seated opposite her on the floor. They could be a couple of young women after gym class gossiping on the mats if it wasn't for Simmons trembling hands and red rimmed eyes. Sighing, Simmons admitted to Skye, "I can't sleep." A tear made its way out and down her cheek before she could stop it. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it."

"The water?"

"Yes." Simmons flinched when Skye placed on hand over hers, not out of fear, but out of surprise. She raised her gaze to meet Skye's in the darkness, willing her to understand that the flinch was nothing personal. "I thought – I thought we were going to die down there." Her voice became quieter as she spoke, afraid to give voice to her thoughts, not wanting to make them real.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Something must have shown in her face because Skye rushed to add, "You don't have to if you don't want to!" But her grip on Simmons hand tightened, wanting to encourage Simmons to get some of her feelings out in the open. The scientist might have thought she had been holding back her discomfort well, but the entire team was just as worried for her as they were for Fitz, maybe more so because Jemma was here with them, wide awake, and supposed to be participating in the rebuild, but there was a vacancy in her that wasn't there before, a cloudiness to her gaze.

"He saved me." Jemma rocked back just a bit, more tears falling. "He saved me and-" She stopped herself from saying what she had intended. Some things that happened at the bottom of the ocean floor were not things she was ready for everyone to know just yet. Instead, she shook her head. "I keep seeing his face right before he got the pod open. I keep seeing the way he smiled at me – like he accepted everything. Like it was right that I would live and he could - Like he thought I could just leave him there. I couldn't." She shook her head again. "I couldn't."

"I know. Shh…" Skye moved up onto the treadmill next to her, looping their arms together and letting Jemma lean on her. "I know you couldn't leave him there. Jemma, you did everything you could to get him out of there. He's alive because of you," she tried to soothe her, but Jemma was full on sobbing now.

"You d-don't understand. I couldn't. He practically told me to. He said. He made me take the oxygen. I just. Skye." Jemma's breath came in quick bursts like she was running again. She tried to stop the tears again. She was tired of crying. So tired of it. After days of finding quiet places to break down, she felt like she shouldn't have any fluids left to form tears. "He's my very best friend." She gulped. "In the world." She brought one hand up to wipe at her face. "It's not that I don't love all of you. I do. But it's Fitz."

"Yeah," Skye agreed in a whisper, "it's Fitz." She waited a beat for Simmons breathing to even out, sensing that she was still holding something back about her best friend in the world. She wasn't going to try to pry it out of her, but she knew that Simmons needed some sort of release. She needed to direct all of this guilt and worry and sorrow somewhere, and she wasn't getting to direct it into helping Fitz. Skye was pretty sure it was only a matter of time though before Coulson allowed her to take over the engineer's treatment. They weren't going to be able to keep her from him for long. "You didn't tell us how you ended up in the water. Did Garrett-"

"Ward," Simmons cut her off quickly. He was a sore subject with the whole team at this point. "We got away from some of the other Hydras on the plane, and we locked ourselves in because we were afraid of what would happen if they got to us. Fitz tried to talk to him, but he was so – cold. He wouldn't listen to reason. He just – he entered the release protocol and dropped us into the middle of the bloody ocean. All because Garrett was more important than us." Her grief gave way to anger and she gave a little stomp of her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. It was the most she could muster.

"Ward did that?" Skye knew her former SO had been busy doing everything Garrett told him to do, but with everything that he had lied about, everything he had done to them, there was still a part of her that believed he wouldn't put FitzSimmons in harm's way. They were FitzSimmons! Shuttling them out of a plane into the middle of the ocean to die was like abandoning a sick puppy or something. It was unthinkable.

Simmons nodded. "Have you seen him since they took him into custody?" She asked, trying to shift the conversation, and her mindset, away from Fitz, but still envisioning the expression of horror on her friend's face when Ward hit the button on the control panel in the wall.

"No. I don't think I really want to. May's been in to interrogate him a couple of times." Skye shrugged. "I'd rather not think about it."

"I know I shouldn't condone the torture he's probably going through in those interrogations," Simmons said, "but I really hope she makes him hurt. So much." Her breath caught in her throat and she fought for composure. "I know that he was doing what Garrett told him to do, he was just following orders, but I don't know… I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive him for this."

"Good." Skye's tone was so flat and final that it surprised her.

"What?" Jemma turned to her incredulously.

"It's good that you're mad at him. What happened to you and Fitz? That's on him, not on you. Hold on to that. Anger is useful." Skye nodded her head at her pointedly.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Simmons was so confused by the turn in the conversation that she momentarily forgot her grief again.

"I've been training with May. Hate-fu is awesome." Skye's expression was so earnest and excited that Jemma felt a laugh start to bubble up in her throat, but she swallowed it down and waited for an explanation. "Come on, I'll show you." Skye hopped up and gestured for her to do the same.

Jemma shakily climbed to her feet to follow Skye across the room to the punching bag. On it was something she hadn't noticed before. Someone, presumable May or Skye, had taped a printed picture of Garrett to the middle of the bag, right at the height were Skye's fist would normally connect to it.

"Wha-"

"Yeah, I was going to put a picture of Ward on here, but I thought that would just piss May off even more than she already is, and Ward really was just Garrett's lapdog… didn't seem fair. Everything that's wrong with our team right now, it can all be traced back to Garrett. He's where our anger belongs." Skye jabbed one finger at the middle of the paper to emphasize her point.

"But… Garrett's gone," Simmons struggled to understand.

"He's a metaphor, Simmons. He gives us a place to focus all of that anger, all of that pain." Skye gestured to the picture again, but Simmons kept her forehead scrunched up as though trying to work out a difficult equation.

"It's probably better that you show her," came May's voice from the door.

Simmons jumped almost theatrically, but Skye didn't react to the other woman's sudden presence other than an eye roll. She hurriedly wrapped her hands with tape provided by the bag May placed on the ground near them, explaining to Simmons about posture and stance and a lot of other things that the scientist didn't process. Jemma was too busy looking back and forth between the two women, not sure how she had wound up in the middle of one of their training sessions before the sun was even up when all she had wanted to do was outrun her own thoughts.

"You should stand over here," May told her softly when Skye took up a fighting stance in front of the punching bag. She gently pulled Jemma to the side where she had a nice view of Skye and the Garrett photo without being in the line of fire. "Skye's made a lot of progress, but sometimes her control isn't the best."

"Not like you," Jemma whispered apprehensively.

"Not like me," May agreed with something of a sigh.

May gave Skye a set of instructions as she worked on her form and her thrust, Skye's fists landing sometimes on the paper, sometimes just outside of the square. Once the basics were over though, May began presenting Skye with various scenarios. Garrett lying to them all, betraying them to Hydra, ordering Ward to steal their secrets, threatening them. Skye appeared to regroup, drawing from some internal place that Jemma didn't have access to, before her punches began to land again, her stance more self-assured, the blows coming faster, until the paper came clean off the bag in a series of shredded segments.

"We're gonna need another one," Skye panted as May pulled one from a shelf at the back of the room.

"That was good, but you still need to work on protecting your core." May tore off a piece of duct tape from a roll with her teeth and slapped the new picture into place. It was slightly below the square of the old one. "One blow to the right spot, and you'll be so winded, your instinct will be to double over. You don't want to put your head down like that."

"Got it."

May turned to Simmons while Skye grabbed a bottle of water from the bag. "Would you like to try?"

She shook her head uncertainly. "I never did well with defense training at the Academy."

"This isn't the Academy. And this isn't defensive."

May produced another roll of tape and methodically wrapped Simmons hands for her, showing her which areas to protect, how to get the fabric tight enough to do its job, but still be able to flex her fingers. Skye hopped up and down just off to the side of the mat and smiled encouragingly while May positioned Simmons in front of the bag.

"You want to keep your weight balanced," Skye called to her. "And keep your body moving. Like in a real fight. Breathe through the punches too. It helps you not lose your breath so fast."

May fought off a smile at Skye's enthusiasm to help Jemma. "Bend your knees a little bit." She put her hands lightly on Jemma's waist, showing her how to position her feet and her shoulders, then bent her fingers into fists that wouldn't leave her with broken bones if they hit against someone else's skull. "Aim right for the center of the picture, like this." May moved into a stance right next to her, drawing one fist back and then letting it fly directly in the middle of Garrett's face, leaving a deep wrinkle in the paper.

"Okay," Jemma left her voice small, feeling self-conscious. She knew they were trying to help. God knew how much of the conversation between them May had heard. They knew she was upset. She didn't see how repeatedly hitting a picture of a dead man was supposed to help her work through her feelings about Fitz though. She took a deep breath in through her nose, then let it out in a quick burst as she lightly let her fist hit the side of the picture. She dropped her hands to her sides, shrugging.

"Put your weight behind it. Harder," May instructed, still close by her side.

Jemma did as she was told, bringing her arms back up in the position May had placed her, her eyes boring into Garrett's in intense concentration. She tried to conjure up the same anger that Skye had talked about and shove aside her embarrassment at punching a picture in front of The Cavalry. She drew her right arm back into an imitation of May's and put as much of her strength behind it as she could. It hurt just a little bit when her fist connected with the edge of the paper, but it was a good kind of hurt.

Skye took a step closer to them seeing the determination on Jemma's face, and after exchanging a look with May, she took a breath and said, "Garrett tortured people into working for him, just like the worst of Hydra. He would take the people they loved and threaten to do horrible things to them if they didn't cooperate."

Jemma hit the paper again, nodding her head in agreement with Skye. She glanced back and forth at the women flanking her. "What else?" she asked breathlessly. To her surprise, this could actually work.

"At the Hub," May began, not sure if this was a good tactic to take or not, but thinking it might be what Simmons needed to keep going, "he told us you were probably dead. He was going to kill us and take Fitz with him to work for Hydra."

Jemma hit the paper again, narrowly missing Garrett's face. "I heard that," she breathed out before drawing back for another punch. "Agent Hand had a radio." She clenched her jaw in frustration.

"Try to alternate hits from each hand so you don't burn yourself out," May instructed, one hand on the middle of her back to help hold the younger woman together.

"He gave Ward his orders," Skye reminded Jemma, "got him to steal all of your research about everything we've done."

Jemma hit the paper again and again. She tried to carefully control her breathing as Skye had warned her, but it was becoming more difficult the longer this went on.

"He betrayed an organization that was supposed to protect people," May said softly.

"He took a little boy from his dad."

"He had Victoria Hand killed."

"He had all of Trip's partners killed."

Jemma's fists slowly began to land closer and closer to the center of the picture with each blow, the paper crinkling more and more with each thrust.

"He's the reason Ward dropped us into the ocean," she bit out, landing a punch dead center, the paper tearing in two. She pulled her body back in surprise, tension uncoiling from her muscles when she saw the image of Garrett distorted and broken. It was amazingly cathartic. Heart pounding in her chest, she turned, looking back and forth between them again as though her head was on some sort of swivel, eyes bright and for once, clear. "That's…"

"Better than jogging?" Skye finished for her, a broad smile on her face.

"Much better than jogging. What do we do next?"

For the next hour, May led Skye and Jemma in a series of drills that involved weights and fight training. Every so often, Jemma would glance back at the ripped picture on the punching bag, take a deep breath, and dive back in.

-o-

The noise of the punches being thrown, a few yells, and a loud chuckle that hadn't been heard in days, were what drew Triplett and Coulson to the doors of the gym, though neither of them went in.

"You think this is a good idea, sir?" Triplett's eyes followed Jemma's movements as May and Skye demonstrated how to use an opponent's weight to throw them off balance.

"They're working it out," Coulson answered, his own eyes landing on the torn picture of Garrett on the punching bag at the back of the room. "May's given them something to focus on. For now, that's enough." Jemma's laugh as Skye managed to throw May echoed through the room. "More than enough."

-o-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's been a lot of Simmons-by-Fitz's-bedside stories after the events of the finale, but I really wanted to give her a way to deal with her grief other than sitting by Fitz's side crying. After May and Skye's discussion about hate-fu, this seemed like a pretty plausible way for Simmons to deal if she couldn't help Fitz right away.


	11. Keys

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Keys.

-o-

_A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks._

_-Richard Bach_

-o-

He didn't mean to eavesdrop. Really, he didn't. Coulson had asked to see him. It wasn't his fault that Coulson and May were having some sort of meeting when he got there. It wasn't his fault that they were talking about something that maybe wasn't supposed to be for his ears. It also wasn't his fault that May wasn't using her super-secret spy powers of knowing where everyone was at all times just then.

The not knocking on the half open door right away and announcing his presence though, that was definitely his fault.

-o-

"Do you think we should send them out together?" Coulson's words drifted from one hotel room to the other, but Fitz edged closer. Skye said Coulson wanted to talk to him about one of the pieces of Howling Commando gear. Something about it being near sacrilege to modify it, but they might need it. He raised his hand in preparation to knock, but lowered it at the next words.

"FitzSimmons will be fine. They're just going to get a line on the plane. No combat involved." May's voice was low and soothing, like she was trying to calm Coulson's nerves about this plan. Fitz hadn't really known Coulson to allow the plans, at least not of his own making, to cause nervousness. "I'd rather have them there than sneaking into the base with us. Fitz won't let anything happen to Simmons, and vice versa."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He froze in place, just on the other side of the door, his body out of sight, even his shadow hiding behind him, not making a sound. Wasn't that part of the deal when you were on a team? You were supposed to protect one another?

"Phil?"

The silence stretched out in the other room, and it grabbed Fitz and took hold, filling his mind with worry. Fitz wished he could see the expressions on their faces. He wanted to know what they were thinking, why it was suddenly not a good idea for FitzSimmons to be FitzSimmons. They had been a package deal right out of the Academy; they worked best when they were together.

"Do you remember," Coulson finally breathed out, "what happened when Simmons contracted that Chitauri virus?" A creak of a bedspring followed his question, indicating one of them had taken a seat on one of the old mattresses.

"No, I have absolutely no memory of Skye falling apart while she watched her only friends in the world try to solve a near impossible problem that could result in death, and no, I don't remember Simmons deciding to save us all by jumping to said death, and I definitely don't remember Ward going out after her just to prove how valuable he was to the team."

Fitz had to give credit where credit was due. May, in these rare unguarded moments with Coulson, had the sarcasm thing down. She was even better than he was.

There was an exasperated sigh after that, and Fitz couldn't say with 100% certainty, but he was pretty sure that was Coulson. He was also pretty sure the senior agent was giving May one of his patented school principal looks right then. She kind of deserved it.

"Fitz… he went into the lab with her even though it was quarantined. He was going to jump out after her…." Coulson trailed off, but just as May made some sort of noise in the back of her throat, something akin to a sucked in breath and a cut off word, he added, "Simmons shot Sitwell when she panicked, trying to get information on the Ossetia mission… I just wonder if Hill was right about me –us – bringing this team into the field after all."

"Hill?" There was a series of clicks, like May was loading bullets into a gun.

"Yeah. She said Ward was prickly. He didn't play well with others. She didn't want him on my team."

"Ward fooled us all," May said stiffly, another sharp click echoing in the room after her statement. "Even beat the unbeatable lie detector." He wasn't sure if May was talking about the high tech chair they had been introduced to at Providence or if she was talking about herself. There was a bitterness to her tone that wasn't there before, and Fitz wondered if Skye was right about May and Ward having been sleeping together. He hadn't really thought Ward would be May's type. Who was he kidding? Ward was everyone's type before he revealed himself to be a traitor.

"Still, Maria caught something I didn't there. I should have seen something."

"Maria trusts less people than Fury does, especially men from the Operations side of SHIELD."

"Did."

"Please. I'll believe that man's dead when I see the body. And even then, I'll want a DNA test."

"Fair enough."

The duo lapsed into silence again, and Fitz thought they had glossed right over the problem at hand. Coulson didn't think he and Simmons would be able to safely get eyes on the bus? What was wrong with-

"What did she say about FitzSimmons?"

Ah, there it was. Fitz strained, leaning closer to the door, nearly scared to breathe lest they catch him in the act. Being caught eavesdropping by a pair of highly trained SHIELD agents (or former SHIELD agents, whatever the case may be) was not going to be a good way to earn respect.

"There's a codependency issue there." He paused. "There was a Section 17 flag in their file. I had it scrubbed to get them in the field together. Maria didn't approve."

Fitz's heart stopped momentarily in his chest. That was impossible. Neither of them had ever said or done anything to… well, nothing had ever actually _happened_ between them, and it seemed entirely unfair that someone at SHIELD had been able to see how he felt before he did.

Damn spies.

Unless the flag hadn't been on his end? But of course it would have been.

"They were involved?" May's voice held an edge of surprise to it. "I mean, the feelings are obviously there, but they both seem too stuck on the rules to act on anything inappropriate. They are both more focused on the job at hand than any agent I've ever seen."

Fitz vehemently shook his head before realizing that neither of them could see him, that he was still hiding behind the door in an adjoining motel room.

"No, there's no evidence that anything physical happened. The flag was from one of the psychologists that evaluated both of them at the Academy."

A zipper sounded, then a thud as May removed equipment that Fitz couldn't see and placed it on the table in the room.

"Evidence." May snorted, a sound Fitz had never heard come from her before. "SHIELD did like to gather as much evidence as possible. Watched our every move. They were thorough."

"Not thorough enough, it seems."

"Maybe operatives assigned to watch their own agents should have spent less time spying on possible Section 17 violators and more time on possible terror threats." May's bitterness echoed again, and Fitz had a feeling there was a story there too, something about May the rest of them didn't know.

"We all thought Hydra was dust. You know why the anti-fraternization policy is in place. People get too close, they focus on one another instead of the mission at hand. They lean on each other too much to get the job done." It was Coulson's turn to take on the low and soothing tone, attempting to placate May on a road he hadn't intended to travel.

"It's been my experience that the best agents, the ones who do the job at all costs, are the ones who are closest with their partners, think of their teams as family. They're the ones who experience life with the whole of their hearts, even if it kills them." Fitz hadn't known May to be so poetic. "Caring doesn't make you weak. It motivates you. It gives you something to hold on to when you're hanging from a ceiling being tortured by a psychopath for information. It makes you stand in front of a man who's going to shoot out your kneecaps and insist that he do his worst. It makes you point the gun and pull the trigger even though you've never used a weapon in the field before. "

"Melinda-"

"I know."

Fitz's world spun and dipped dangerously as he thought about what May said. She _cared_ much more than he thought. She thought they were family. She didn't think his feelings for Simmons were a weakness, but a strength he could use. He kind of wanted to run up and hug her, but he thought that wouldn't go over very well. Especially since his feelings were a little jumbled right now.

There was some shuffling of papers before May said, "I don't remember seeing anything in their files when I assembled the parameters for your team."

May had read their files? Fitz cringed at the thought. He wondered what it said about how he had been recruited, the trouble he had been in as a child, the attitude problem, the difficulty with authority initially… It was probably a pretty thick file for a relatively young agent.

"It was a result of one of their final field assessments. Must have been done after you vetted them."

"Did they fail badly?"

"No, quite the opposite. Passed with flying colors on the early logistics and strategy portions of the test. Written explanations to problems were pretty by the book. Not surprising considering the two of them excel at games like Chess and Risk. Simmons excelled at identifying and reversing the effects of toxins. Fitz was especially adept at escaping sealed facilities."

"Ironic," May muttered. The scent of oil came to him, and Fitz gathered that she was cleaning one of their few weapons now. Maybe it was one of the ways she stayed so zen.

"It was on the practical application that they lost points."

"Makes sense. You can solve every problem in the world on paper, but when you're actually thrown into a dangerous situation, everything you've learned can go out the window."

Coulson sighed and Fitz could picture him rubbing his hand across his forehead, maybe loosening his tie to stave off the irritation or stress he was feeling. "They did surprisingly well for a pair of agents who didn't want to land fieldwork before they made it to SciOps. They made it all the way to the end of the simulation, were set to break out, but they didn't see one of the Ops agents playing the assassins until it was too late. Simmons jumped in front of Fitz to take the bullet."

"Sounds like Simmons."

Fitz's heart clenched in his chest and he grit his teeth at the memory. For a moment, he had forgotten it was a simulation and that everything they were doing was to gauge their reactions to real threats in the field. He forgot that their progress was being monitored. He forgot that everything was being recorded and marked down. He forgot that they were doing this because he and Simmons had agreed to try for their field assessments _together._ All he knew was that Simmons had jumped in front of him, and there was suddenly a splatter of red on her standard issue SHIELD t-shirt. He forgot that it was basically a paint ball, that it would do no real damage but bruise, that real blood wasn't quite that bright of a red. All he saw was the stunned expression on Jemma's face as she clutched at the mark on her chest. She probably hadn't expected it to hurt. He suspected she was simply reacting on instinct, that Fitz getting out was the way for the mission parameters to remain intact with the least amount of casualties. The problem was that once she got hit, Fitz could focus on nothing else.

"Simmons sacrificing herself for the mission would have been one thing, but she didn't do it for the other field agent candidate that was shot at earlier in the test. She did it for Fitz. And Fitz wasn't able to complete his final task. He was too focused on Simmons. The two of them, they just fell apart."

_They fell apart_ was a massive understatement on Coulson's part, but Fitz appreciated the man not going into detail, even if he was certain that May was never going to bring this up with him. He had blocked most of what happened after Simmons being "shot" from his mind. He remembered not being able to get his hands steady. He remembered telling Simmons afterwards that it had all just been nerves. His nerves got the better of him. It was the first time he lied to her.

"They have more experience in the field now."

Fitz noticed that May didn't add that half of their experience in the field involved the two of them knowingly putting themselves in harm's way for one another. There's a part of him that realized Coulson was right. He was never going to go into a mission with Simmons and not put her first. It wasn't how this was going to work. Ever. He took a step back from the door, inhaled deeply, attempting to calm himself down. He didn't want to hear anymore. He didn't want to think about his feelings anymore. He wanted to get back to work. He wanted something else to draw his attention.

Coulson didn't respond. In fact, the other room is so silent that Fitz worried that the more experienced agents had found him out. He froze again, half way between knocking on the door and backing away.

"You read the earlier entries into their files too?" Coulson must have nodded his head at May's question because she went on, "What do you think would have happened to them if SHIELD hadn't recruited them, if they hadn't found each other during their training?"

Fitz allowed May's question to take him back to his early days at the Academy, days of loneliness and isolation when he was too nervous, too used to being the odd man out to join in. He had allowed himself to sink so far into himself that he had almost been completely unaware of the girl his own age who tried over and over again to befriend him. He had almost missed out on Jemma Simmons completely. Luckily, Jemma was a stubborn one.

"I think they would have found each other eventually. They might not have wound up in the same fields, but their work complements one another. I think it would have only been a matter of time before their paths crossed," Coulson allowed. "The way they work together is… it's not like anything I've ever seen before," he admitted to May. "It's like neither of them even have to finish a complete thought around one another. Everything just clicks right into place and the ideas come flowing out. I knew it was a risk bringing them on, but I did it because I think that together, there probably isn't any problem we could come up against that they can't work out a solution for."

"Then why are you hesitating to send them out on this?"

"I'm not prepared to lose either of them." He paused. "Do you think they're prepared for combat at this point if they run into any trouble?"

"I think Fitz is more prepared than you think. He saved me, remember? And I think Jemma is made of harder stuff than we've given her credit for. They'll find a way around anything that gets in their way. Or through."

Fitz swallowed hard. He couldn't take any more of this kind of talk right now. He wiped the distraught expression from his face, raised his hand, and knocked.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full extent of the quote at the top:
> 
> "A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys that fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise. Our soulmate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life."
> 
> It felt like an apt description of FitzSimmons if I ever heard one.


	12. Locks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter acts as a companion piece to the previous "Keys."

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Locks.

-o-

_Too often, the opportunity knocks, but by the time you push back the chain, push back the bolt, unhook the locks, and shut off the burglar alarm, it's too late._

_-Rita Coolidge_

-o-

Picking up one of the heavier pieces of gravel, Jemma smoothed the pages of the folder in front of her and dropped the rock on top of it. There wasn't much of a breeze, but what there was kept ruffling the pages, the _thhhiiip_ of the papers distracting her, making her thumb through packets she wasn't ready to get to just yet. There were hundreds of files for the team to go through. She couldn't believe that Project: Deathlok had been in effect for decades and no one in SciOps had ever heard of it.

Well, that wasn't true. There were certainly agents at SciOps who had heard of it. The problem was just that those particular agents were actually Hydra. It was a sobering thought. She wondered how many of them there had been. The woman that monitored their security feeds? The man that set the alarm codes? The pair of Indian scientists sharing a lab just two doors down from Fitz and her? Any of them could now be the enemy.

Craning her neck, she squinted in the afternoon sunlight and leaned her head back against the palm tree she had camped out under. With May and Coulson taking inventory of their weapons, Fitz helping them with some of the equipment Triplett's family had provided them, and Triplett and Skye working through online activity concerning Garrett and Ward's aliases, she was the only one still running through all of the Cybertek files. The information on the mechanics supporting the organic function of the different candidates was fascinating. The applications of the research, if it wasn't being used by the likes of Hydra to create super soldiers, could be amazing.

She just needed to rest her eyes for a moment. That was all. Then she would return to the pile of folders she had pilfered from the table by the pool where the team had been spending so much time. The bright white of the pages, the small typeface of the paper files, the glare of the sun – a palm tree didn't offer much in the way of protection from the light in her eyes – it was all starting to get to her. She should have thought to pick up sunblock on one of their numerous trips to the local convenience stores. And sunglasses. Or a hat. Los Angeles was much sunnier than she remembered from her few trips out.

Not a minute after she had shut her eyes against the glare of the sun though, she heard the scrape of chairs against concrete, so she twisted around to make sure no motel guests were about to run off with the research they had tried so hard to obtain. It was Skye and Triplett, presumably needing a change in venue from the motel room they had been cooped up in.

"This is getting ridiculous," Skye muttered, laptop closed in front of her, propping her feet up on another chair.

"We have to take into account that they have aliases we don't know about." Triplett sat himself in the chair next to her, propping his feet up as well.

Jemma settled back against the tree, considered calling to them to let them know she hadn't left the files alone, but once they started talking, she shrugged and shut her eyes again. They didn't seem too concerned, and truthfully, she couldn't remember seeing any other motel guests for at least 48 hours. Maybe Coulson had struck up some sort of deal with the manager to get them some peace and quiet while they worked.

"Yeah. Makes sense. I mean, I personally scrubbed all of Ward's known aliases for SHIELD from every database I could hack into. I erased everything about him. He could go anywhere now, be anyone, and we would have no idea unless he gets caught on camera somewhere and we just happen to hack the security feed at the right time." The sound of Skye's palm hitting the table echoed across the pool deck, and Jemma considered going to check on her, but there was a rustling of paper as Triplett likely moved some of the more sensitive materials out of her reach.

"We need some more of your out-of-the-box thinking. Simmons says you're good at that."

The warmth in Triplett's voice tugged a smile to Jemma's face. It's odd that he seemed to trust her opinion so quickly out of everyone, but maybe facing Victoria Hand's firing squad did that to you. She would have fought tooth and nail to get him on Coulson's team. He was one of the few people she had met that she felt she could turn to immediately. The only other people who had inspired that kind of confidence in her were Fitz, Agent Weaver when she was recruited for the Academy, and Agent Coulson when he asked her to join the team. Even Skye had made her a tiny bit nervous at first.

"Simmons says that, huh? She would know." Skye gave a half chuckle, and Simmons could just imagine the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and her mouth opened in amusement. "You know, Simmons _hates_ to break the rules. I mean, this whole former-government-agents-on-the-run thing has got to be driving her nuts. She didn't even want to help me hack into the Hub's database a couple months ago to find out if Ward and Fitz were okay on a mission. You know, she actually shot-" Skye cut herself off and there was a slight clap that indicated that she might have just clamped her own hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying anything else.

Simmons shook her head. It seemed like she wasn't the only one who had trouble keeping secrets. Maybe it was Triplett's super power. Even Fitz had started to chat around him.

The low rumbling of Triplett's laugh followed the clap, and Simmons grinned as he told Skye, "I think since every SHIELD mission is somewhere on the internet now, you don't have to worry about it being classified."

"Right."

"What did you guys do?"

Triplett seemed genuinely curious. He had jumped at the chance to be on this team when the one he knew had dissolved into betrayal. Jemma couldn't blame him for wondering about what their lives were like when Ward was their resident specialist instead of him. She wondered what his time with Garrett was like. Just a handful of people traveling without all of the perks their team had scored with Coulson in charge. It would have been very different. She was lucky that she had been able to travel with her best friend and some of the top field agents that SHIELD had ever had in Coulson and May. They protected them. She had a feeling Garrett hadn't been that kind of leader, even before revealing himself as a Hydra operative.

"You know how SHIELD was hell-bent on compartmentalization?"

"No one knows anything they don't absolutely need to know to complete their part of their mission."

The click and hiss that followed startled Jemma. She jumped a bit before realizing that one of them must have popped the top on a can of soda. Triplett and Skye were really embracing this whole idea of eating and drinking whatever they wanted on their little vacation. Jemma fought off an eye roll. It wasn't her place to lecture them on the lack of health benefits in a carbonated beverage.

"Yeah, well, as someone who spent all of their free time hacking into classified systems before joining up, the idea of not getting to know everything just didn't sit well with me. I mean, how are you supposed to trust a group of people that you've never met when they say, 'oh, hey, you guys are perfect to go on this mission, but we're not going to tell anyone else on your team what it is you're actually doing?' I mean, that's got to raise a red flag, right?"

Triplett didn't answer Skye, and Simmons couldn't blame him. It was something Skye had a problem with since she first came on board the bus. It was something the rest of them had been trained to believe was a necessary part of the job. The less you knew, the harder it was for you to give secrets to the enemy.

"Anyway," Skye continued, "I guess… I hadn't been with the team very long, and I was worried about Fitz and Ward." She sighed, probably considering how foolish it had been to worry about Ward now. "I didn't like that we couldn't check on them, that we were just supposed to trust the system." Her voice went deeper on the last few words, and Jemma gathered that she was mimicking Coulson's words to them from their first trip to the Hub as a team. "I talked to Simmons about it, and convinced her to help me hack in to find the file on the mission."

"Really? You got Simmons to help you hack the Hub, just like that? I mean, I know she was runnin; tests on your blood against Coulson's orders the last time we were there, but usin' a lab to run tests is very different from hackin' into secure files that you've been told you don't have clearance for." Triplett sounded impressed, and she was sure that lazy smile was snaking its way across his face. He had a habit of wearing it when around her or Skye, like he was the class clown who couldn't believe his luck at getting to sit with the popular girls at lunch.

Jemma wondered if she seemed like that much of a stickler for the rules. She liked having a defined set of parameters to follow. She liked step by step instructions that went from a logical point A to point B. Why did everyone act like structure was such a bad thing? She was more than willing to break the rules when the situation called for it. It wasn't like she was locked into this tiny cage of herself.

"I told you… I was worried about Ward _and Fitz._ " Jemma frowned at Skye's emphasis on Fitz's name. "They are called FitzSimmons for a reason, you know? Jemma didn't want to admit how worried she was about him too, but as soon as I mentioned the possibility that Fitz could be tortured, we made a plan. And we wouldn't have gotten into any trouble if Jemma hadn't shot Sitwell. Oh, don't look like that, it was with the early version of the night-night gun, he was just out cold… Maybe we should have just shot him. May said he's one of the Hydra agents that's missing."

"Let me get this straight, you manipulated your teammate into helping you by telling her that her partner was being tortured and then she shot an agent that outranked her? That's cold." Jemma's frown deepened, but Triplett's voice was torn between disapproval and amusement.

"It wasn't manipulation!" Skye protested loudly. "I actually thought they were being tortured since it was just the two of them on their own! I didn't know that Ward could have just run off with Fitz for team Hydra if he wanted, did I? And Sitwell was questioning her about what she was doing and she panicked!"

"She doesn't do well under pressure, does she?"

"Not that kind of pressure, no."

Jemma decided that this was probably the point in the conversation where she should announce her presence before they started gossiping about her like a couple of high school students. It wasn't polite to eavesdrop, but those that did it were more likely to find out things they didn't want to know. She was fairly certain nothing in Triplett or Skye's chat was going to be mean spirited, but it didn't seem right to let them go on. Before she could though, Skye asked Triplett a question that gave her pause, made her ears perk up, and had her eyes wide open.

"Trip, do you have a thing for Simmons?"

"A thing?" Trip echoed her with a laugh. "What are we, fifteen?"

Jemma contemplated his reaction. Did he? He was rather, as Skye would term it, flirty, but he seemed that way with everyone really. He was just a very friendly person. He seemed to enjoy this lifestyle, the moving from place to place at a moment's notice, the only packing what you can carry, the meeting new people, the trying new things. It all seemed to suit him. He was always having fun, like a small child tying a bed sheet around his shoulders and pretending he could fly as he jumped from the mattress.

"Come on, I'm serious!" Simmons had the feeling that Skye had just given him a good natured shove, as though she really was still in high school.

Trip hesitated before he answered, "it would be… messy to have a relationship with a teammate."

That's not an answer, Jemma thought to herself, just as Skye voiced the same thing.

"That's not a real answer. I know how much you specialists like to avoid answering questions by telling partial truths if you don't just outright lie…" Skye trailed off in a sing song voice.

"I don't know. I mean, Simmons seems pretty cool. Pretty great, actually. She treats me like an equal, not like I'm just here to punch people. She doesn't act like I can't understand her experiments. She's sweet. She can't lie for shit." He laughed. "It's kind of cute. Makes you wonder why SHIELD would ever have sent her in the field though. There's no way that girl can fool anyone on an undercover assignment."

Jemma's face heated in embarrassment as Skye joined in his laughter, but it also flushed with flattery. She hadn't really considered the possibility that Triplett would have any sort of feelings for her beyond their shared experience at the Hub. Skye seemed to think everyone was one beer bottle away from spending the night in someone else's bed though, so it shouldn't have surprised her that Skye would ask him point blank. Skye often teased her and Fitz about their friendship, she had told them that May and Ward were sleeping together, and she even speculated about whether or not May and Coulson had "a thing" in the past. Skye just wanted everything to be a soap opera that she could lose herself in and forget about the more dangerous entanglements they were facing.

"So, you do like her?" Skye pressed once she was done laughing. "I mean, come on, everyone likes Simmons, but you _like_ her!"

There was something like a millisecond before he answered Skye, and Jemma had that tiny amount of time to consider if she wanted him to respond in the affirmative. Did she have any kind of designs on the specialist? He was… not unattractive. He was intelligent and strong and trustworthy and loyal to the team. She was drawn to him when she first met him, a spark of a chemical reaction there perhaps. But if she pictured herself waking up in the middle of the night from a bad dream and wanting someone's arms to hold her until she fell asleep, or kiss away the darkness in her mind, or even distract her with silly conversations about what dreams mean, was it Triplett that she pictured there, chasing all the bad things away?

No, it decidedly was not.

She wasn't entirely sure who she pictured in the edges of her mind, the image was fleeting, and if she reached out just so, she could probably grab it, but she pushed it down and hid it away just as quickly as she called it up.

"Seriously, girl, are you 15, just out here pretending to be a SHIELD agent?" Triplett chuckled again. "Naw, it's not like that. Simmons is cool, but I don't think anyone's gettin' in the way of FitzSimmons. Fitz is my boy. I wouldn't do that."

"Does Fitz know he's your boy? Cause it doesn't seem like he knows that."

"He's gettin' there. I'm wearin' him down. He's a good kid."

Jemma sifted uncomfortably on her concrete seat, the bark of the palm tree scratching her shoulder blades through her blouse. This entire conversation was confusing. This was why you should never listen in on a topic you were not invited to participate in. Why did everyone just assume that she and Fitz were anything other than the best of friends? Sure, they cared about one another immensely. If Jemma was being honest, it was entirely possible that she cared about Fitz more than she cared about her own parents. But that didn't mean either of them was attempting to pursue a romantic relationship. She had never really considered that to be an option before.

It wasn't like the opportunity for consideration hadn't presented itself. There was that one incident at the Academy, but they were both inebriated and celebratory, and it was not an incident of any particular consequence since neither of them had brought it up again. He was Fitz and she was Simmons. Together they were FitzSimmons. The solved problems that others couldn't and they finished each other's projects and they just – were.

Simmons picked up the highlighter in front of her, not realizing that her fingers had a slight tremor to them. She gave a small sigh, squinting at the pages in front of her, but not really seeing them, losing herself in her thoughts and blocking out the sound of the conversation going on behind her.

-o-

"Simmons? Simmons? Did you fall asleep back here?"

She squinted up at the shape above her that matched the accented voice staring down at her.

"No, just thinking." She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, staring at the same page, reading the same line, her thoughts running in circles in her head.

"Well, Coulson and May are talking about ordering a pizza. Said they can't take anymore Thai food. Wanted to know if you had a topping preference." Fitz gestured to the table a few feet away from the tree as he spoke. The entire team was gathered there, the remaining file folders spread out amongst them again. He cocked his head to the side when she didn't answer, then knelt to help her pick up the files she had been perusing. "You alright?"

"Of course. No preference, really. Anything's fine."

He stood with an armful of files and she took his offered hand when he held it out to help her to her feet.

"Great, so anchovies and black olives it is then?"

"Fitz!" She knew he was teasing, but she groaned nonetheless. She saw Skye and Triplett share a smile, and she quickly dropped his hand, choosing not to consider what that did or didn't mean, closing the door to that part of her brain while she joined the rest of the team at the table.

-o-


	13. Monopoly

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Monopoly.

-o-

There's a cabinet in the common room of the plane where Coulson requested that a few very specific things had to be stocked when he was granted use of the bus. It held six very important pieces of training equipment for a SHIELD team – Battleship, Risk, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Twister, and Monopoly. Battleship taught agents how to read their opponents, Risk helped them plan strategy, Scrabble forced them to expand their thinking within a limited set of parameters, Yahtzee made them realize they had to take advantage of statistical anomalies, Twister played on a flying plane made them appreciate balance and fluidity, and Monopoly, well, Monopoly was there for one simple reason – it was to help them bond. The team that could get through a full game of Monopoly without anyone giving up, pulling a gun on a teammate, or accusing someone of stealing from the bank was the kind of team that could succeed in the most hostile of environments.

Because SHIELD agents were ruthless. And they liked to make up their own rules. They also liked to buy little plastic hotels. And they gloated when they bought them.

Yes, Monopoly could be a bloodbath.

-o-

Exactly one month after asking Skye to join their team, Coulson has become tired of hearing Ward complain about how Skye must be cheating at Battleship because she always beats him.

" _Coulson, I'm telling you. Something's off. She can't possibly get all my ships that quickly every game. It doesn't matter how I place them."_

" _It's just pattern recognition, Ward."_

He's really tired of Fitz and Simmons prodding May for strategy tips in Risk. Really tired. They sound like babbling children when they get going.

" _Please, Agent May. We just don't understand how you can win every time, even though you don't take over the same countries every time."_

" _It's not that we want to beat you, but we'd really like to show Ward that we can do it."_

" _It's not like we don't understand strategy-"_

" _We're very good at chess."_

" _Please?"_

If he has to hear Skye say that trying to come up with words out of seven random letters against a pair of geniuses from the UK is torture one more time, he might lower the cargo ramp and let the scrabble tiles scatter somewhere over the Pacific ocean, then make her retrieve them, just to shut her up.

" _How is anybody supposed to beat them, AC? Half of those words aren't even English!"_

" _Of course they are. Simmons is from England."_

He's also tired of playing Yahtzee because he always loses at Yahtzee. He's the guy who holds out hope for the best roll of the dice until the very end, and it almost always costs him. He knows what that says about him. Ward always reminds him.

" _You really need a new strategy, sir."_

And Twister, that game is something of a disaster amongst the team. May loves it because it gives her a chance to stretch unused muscles after being seated in the cockpit for hours on end. The only one who can come close to beating her is, surprisingly, Simmons, who makes up for her lack of coordination with an easy flexibility and willingness to crawl over and under her teammates. The last game ended with her, May, and Fitz in a heap on the floor though and quite a few red faces.

" _Right hand, yellow!"_

" _How the bloody hell do you expect me to put my hand there, Skye? Simmons and May are in the way, and my arm does not bend that way!"_

" _Suck it up, Fitz."_

" _Oh, bloody-"_

" _Fitz!"_

" _Agent May, I am so sorry!"_

" _You put your face there again and you better buy me drinks first."_

So Coulson institutes a mandatory Monopoly game to quiet the squabbling. Once a month, mission status permitting, he tells them they are going to sit around a table together, the plane on autopilot, and play the damn game from beginning to end. He doesn't care what games they play with one another the rest of the time, but this is a whole team game night. They are going to bond.

Starting tonight. Right after dinner.

May gives him a look. He stares right back at her.

"Winner gets to pick the breakfast menu for tomorrow," he tells them. No one looks particularly excited about the prize. They all kind of shrug or nod their heads and go about their business. Except for May. She's no rookie. She continues to stare him down until Skye needs his attention about an old surveillance package.

-o-

"I don't think I've ever actually finished a game of Monopoly," Skye muses, sipping from the bottle of beer Fitz gave her as she takes her seat on the couch.

"I have," he answers, a smirk on his face, "just the one time. I beat Simmons."

"And you lost to everyone else on our floor," Simmons reminds him with an indulgent smile, seating herself on the floor, crossing her legs beneath the table. "There were game closets in the common areas at the Academy," she explained to Skye. "So many of the new recruits wanted to play the SHIELD version of the game of Life though. I detest that game."

"That's because scientists never win it," Ward chimes in, claiming a spot on the couch next to Skye where he thinks he'll be able to keep an eye on her in case she's found a way to cheat at Monopoly as well. "It's got an Ops bent to it."

Fitz plops down onto the floor next to Simmons just as Skye exclaims, "there's a SHIELD version of Life? Why am I surprised by that?"

"SHIELD has its own version of lots of different games."

"Training techniques for prospective agents. We'll have to grab a few if we make a stop at The Academy."

"I think you'll actually find them pretty hilarious."

The scientists overlap one another as they talk, and Simmons and Fitz share a look that indicates they're remembering a game that no one else has played, and since their sense of humor isn't always on the same wavelength as everyone else's, Skye just smiles, setting her beer bottle on the table, making sure to use a coaster.

"What about you, robot? You ever get through a whole game of Monopoly?"

"Can't say that I have."

Skye flips up the lid of the ancient game set – it really looks like it might be about fifty years old – and looks for a list of rules. "Don't you only win if everyone else loses all their money? That could take days!" She groans as she scans through the list of rules on the cardboard inset.

"Longest monopoly game ever recorded took 70 days, actually," Fitz reveals.

"Then you better get comfortable," Coulson calls to them as he takes his seat in a swivel chair at the head of the table. "Or get strategic."

Skye narrows her eyes at him, not understanding why he's so gung ho about this game. Sitting here for hours buying and selling houses doesn't seem like it's going to be a good time. She kind of has a feeling May is going to trounce them all. Especially when she takes a seat in the chair opposite Coulson and spins the box from Skye's hands, announcing to the team, "I'll bank."

"Why do you get to control the money?" Fitz asks before he can stop himself, but he's silent and stares at the surface of the table when she raises a single eyebrow.

"Does anyone else want to be the banker?" Coulson asks like a teacher trying to placate a group of five-year-olds. At the muted shakes of their heads, Coulson rolls his eyes and grabs the game board, unfolding it and spreading it out on the table in front of them. Some of the colors are faded, but everything is still visible. May doles out the money while he speaks.

"Pick your token."

He grabs the decks of Chance and Community Chest cards, placing them in their designated rectangles on the board. The four young agents just stare at the contents of the box for a few moments like deciding on a game piece is as important as deciding to snip the red or blue wire on an armed explosive. These kids don't usually take things this seriously, if ever. He wonders idly if they know the history of the game within the agency, how it's been used to retrieve captured agents across enemy lines. Do they still teach that in the history courses at The Academy?

"Alright, anyone have any house rules they'd like to discuss implementing? Or do you want to play by SHIELD rules?"

"There are SHIELD rules for Monopoly?" Skye cries. "What is wrong with you people?" There is apparently a SHIELD version of everything she has ever come across in her life, and it amazes her now that she hasn't seen that eagle logo stamped on other things when she wasn't looking for it, especially since she has spent so much time looking for it.

Fitz shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth to keep from laughing at the anguished expression that crosses her face. Simmons picks up the pile of money May has laid in front of her and quickly recounts it.

"Sorry, habit," she tells May, setting the slips of colorful paper back down and shaking her head as though she knows better than to doubt May's math.

"I'm the iron," May tells Coulson, handing him a pile of money as well.

"As usual," Coulson agrees, moving the iron to GO along with a lantern for himself.

"Do you guys have your own game pieces too?" Skye wonders, draining the rest of her beer. "I've never seen some of these before."

"No," Simmons tells her, reaching forward and picking up the thimble from the assembled pieces. "This is likely an early 1950s version of the game before some of the pieces were replaced with more popular ones. During World War II, all of the pieces were made of wood because metal was being diverted to the war effort, right Fitz?"

He nods his agreement, scooping up the top hat and playing with it across his knuckles, all the while chewing another mouthful of popcorn.

Skye shrugs and places the purse at the first square on the game board, deciding to be gracious and not leave Ward with the most feminine game token in the set. "Guess that makes you the rocking horse," She tells him, transferring it to the opening square as well.

Simmons snatches the top hat from Fitz's hands and places their pieces in the line before he can lose it during all of his flipping and spinning of it.

"SHIELD rules indicate that you have to circle the game board in full before purchasing any property," Ward explains to Skye, leaning back on the couch, relaxed now that he's in senior agent mode with her again, "it's like getting the lay of the land before you head out on a mission. SHIELD rules also dictate that if you go to jail, you don't get to wait out the sentence by throwing doubles, you automatically pay the fine and get out on your next turn. It's like begin captured and forced to call for backup."

"Let me guess. Every rule relates to something that happens in the field?" Skye deadpans, looking at May for clarification. The corner of May's mouth quirks up in the semblance of a smirk, but it's Coulson who answers her.

"Of course." He loosens his tie, but doesn't remove it. "It's another way to ingrain protocol."

"Ugh. Can't we all just do a puzzle together or something? Do we have any of those massive landscape ones where half of it is just blue sky? That would take just as long!"

"Pfft. You can't seriously think we wouldn't get a puzzle like that done in near record time?" Fitz asks, gesturing to himself and Simmons. Simmons smiles proudly.

"Oh, do you remember that one we did with all of the poppies? That was a gorgeous print. I wish I had found out the photographer."

"We are playing Monopoly!" Coulson reminds them. "What do you have against Monopoly?"

"It's just a long time to be in one spot," Skye mutters, fidgeting in her seat, fingers pulling on a loose thread at the bottom of her top.

It takes Coulson nearly twenty minutes to explain the rules to Skye with everyone else chiming in, giving their take on different strategies and properties. Skye's eyes widen with each piece of new information. She had no idea how seriously these people took their Monopoly.

-o-

"I'd like to buy that, thank you." Simmons quickly leafs through her pile of cash and hands a few bills to May, plucking the property card for New York Avenue from the other woman's hands.

She now has the entire array of orange colored properties in front of her and half a dozen others. Skye boasts a single rail road and Marvin Gardens. Fitz has taken ownership of all of the red and all of the fuschia. Coulson has nabbed all of the light blue and the remaining rail roads. Ward only has a handful of mismatched pieces; he's obviously not putting in much of an effort. May though has nearly everything else. There are only two pieces left to purchase, and Skye has her doubts that she's going to be in the game much longer. She doesn't understand how she keeps landing on everything that everyone else already owns. It's like this game is rigged.

Everyone stares at her when she sighs, and she realizes that Coulson and Ward have already taken their turns while she's been staring at everyone else's property. "Sorry." She picks up the dice, half-heartedly shakes them in her hand, and drops them on to the faded game board. Moving the four spaces, Skye rolls her eyes when Fitz smiles in glee and holds out his hand for the money she owes him. She forks it over and just hopes she'll be out of the game quick enough that she can watch a movie or something before she turns in for the night.

"Did you know," Fitz asks everyone, "that statistically, the properties players land on the most are-"

"-New York Avenue, Illinois Avenue, Reading Railroad, and B&O Railroad," Simmons finishes for him with a flourish. She smiles while he scowls at not getting to spout off that fact. "The most lucrative properties," she continues, "are not the most expensive either." She smiles apologetically at May who has both Boardwalk and Park Place in her possession. "They're actually the string of-"

"Red and orange property lines," Fitz adds, his expression mirroring hers now.

"Why didn't you tell me that before we started playing?" Skye teases, noting that the pair of them made sure to grab the most lucrative properties they discussed.

Simmons laughs. "You have to have some sort of strategy, Skye."

"Yeah, it's pretty much hope for the best, at this point," the other girl points out wryly. Skye accepts that she isn't going to win the game, but really, she reasons to herself while the others talk around her, it's not that big of a deal. She's never owned much, so the idea of spending a game trying to buy up as much land as she can and then build on it, charging everyone else to land on it, has never really appealed to her. It's more fun to watch everyone else play anyway.

Fitz acts like he doesn't care about winning, but his eyes narrow and watch everyone's move like he's calculating the odds of a victory for each of them based on that one roll of the dice. He probably is. Simmons is the same, smiling and chattering away about historical game facts, all the while paying very close attention to how May plays the game, as though she'll be able to glean some piece of knowledge she hadn't considered. May, for her part, plays the game very much like she does everything else on the bus – quietly and efficiently. She's clearly the odds on favorite, though every so often she smiles indulgently at one of Simmons' facts or Fitz's jokes or Coulson's reminder of the rules. It's like she's actually having fun. Coulson is more relaxed than Skye's seen him in a long time. He doesn't seem to have any strategy in particular, and he isn't trying to gouge anyone out of any money. It's almost like he's making moves that will keep the game going even longer. Skye suspects he's enjoying this more than the only slight smile on his face when Fitz is sent to jail would let on. Ward – Ward has been keeping his expression mostly blank. Skye has a feeling that, like her, he didn't spend too much of his childhood at family game nights. He's not really making an effort. He throws the dice and he moves the token, and he pays his fees, but he seems to be on autopilot, like there's something else on his mind. She starts nudging him playfully, trying to get his attention and keep his mind on the game. He offers her a smile in return and starts to focus a little bit better.

As Fitz pays his fine to be released from Monopoly jail, he asks Ward, "Did you know that during World War II, the British Secret Intelligence actually had specialty versions of Monopoly created for prisoners of war being held by the Nazis that had special instructions encoded in them, even maps and compasses?"

"Yes," Simmons chimes in again "They would hide real money in with the Monopoly money and the games were actually distributed amongst camps and prisons by workers for fake charities."

Ward smiles again, and it's genuine this time. "You know we had to take classes about the history of SHIELD at Ops too, right? The SSR helped with the distribution of the games and the planning of escape routes." He sips from his own beer. "Kind of a weird way to get people out, right?"

The discussion turns to the logistics of using a board game as an escape tool, and even May participates. None of them notice how much time is passing as they all keep playing and keep talking. Coulson reveals that the first time he ever played a game of Monopoly was actually with Nick Fury. The director taught him everything he knows about the game. Simmons says her family had game nights when she was a little girl, but the British version is slightly different than this American one. Ward and Fitz both learned the basics of the game at The Academy, neither of them having played it as kids. May says that there isn't a board game that exists that she hasn't played.

"You've probably won all of them at least once, haven't you," Skye prods with a grin.

"Of course," May agrees. "I always play to win."

To everyone's surprise, it's not Skye who's out first, but Ward, as he lands on first one of Fitz's properties with a hotel, then Simmons', then May's. Each of the agents give him wide smiles as he's finally forced to trade over his own property in lieu of payment. Just as Ward begins to stand and bid everyone goodnight though, Coulson gestures for him to sit back down.

"Do you not remember? Everyone stays for the game. _The whole game_. And you become the teammate to the person with the least amount of assets, which is… Skye. SHIELD rules – if you can't win on your own, you win with a partner. Even a specialists ends up with a teammate sometimes."

"Just going to grab a beer," Ward covers smoothly, raising his eyebrows as if challenging everyone to doubt him. "Anyone need anything?"

"More popcorn?" Simmons hands the bowl over to him. "Fitz ate it all."

"It wasn't all me!" He protests.

"Yes it was," Simmons and Skye chorus before laughing.

Coulson shakes his head and watches as the three youngest members argue about popcorn and beer while Skye rolls the dice. She manages to land on her own piece of property this time, and just keeps chattering away as May takes her turn. May loads more of her properties down with buildings before she rolls the dice.

_This is nice,_ he thinks to himself. It's not a group of people planning the best way to take down a hostile operative. It's not a bunch of highly trained individuals figuring out how to steal back alien technology from a multi-millionaire. Right now, as Fitz chucks a hotel across the table at Skye and Simmons giggles into her pile of money, as May serenely purchases one of the last pieces of property from the box and Ward curses because he's having trouble using the microwave again, this group he's assembled is not like the typical SHIELD agents gunning for victory - they could be a family instead. _This is nice._

-o-

Months later when the team, or what's left of it, has found themselves at the Playground, they haven't even thought about board games in a long time. They've been in survival mode for what seems like forever. Just as May has started to loosen up with her team, she's clamped down again. Skye is more focused than she has ever been. Ward has betrayed them and sits in a holding cell. Fitz lays in a medical room recovering from his injuries. Simmons doesn't smile very much anymore. Triplett, having left his own team of betrayal behind, has joined them. And Coulson is now in charge of their fledgling agency. It's all completely different.

That's why May finds herself searching for something to take everyone's mind off of recent events, however briefly. Hers especially. She finds herself in a supply room, fingertips idly running her fingers over the contents of the shelves, mostly cleaning supplies and linens, but Billy, caretaker of the facility, had mentioned that he did puzzles and played card games when he had nothing else to do. After a few minutes of dust bunnies and labeled supplies, May spots a stack of familiar boxes. There, on a corner shelf in the far reaches of the room are Battleship, Risk, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Twister, and Monopoly. The stack of games are just as old as the ones they had on the bus. She grabs a box and makes her way back through the facility to the common room, knocking on doors and announcing a team meeting as she walks.

May perches on the arm of a chair, waiting as each of the team members, sans Ward and Fitz, gather around her, taking their own seats. Coulson raises a questioning eyebrow at her, but she doesn't say anything until everyone is seated. It's almost like being on the bus again – Coulson seated across from her in another chair, Skye and Triplett sitting on a couch, and Simmons, last to arrive, hovers uncertainly before sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbows propped on the table in the middle of them. May's eyes drift to the empty space on the floor next to Simmons before she tosses a box onto the table.

"We're taking a break," May announces.

"Monopoly?" Trip asks, a lazy grin taking over his face. "Haven't played Monopoly in years."

"Get ready to have your ass handed to you then," Skye tells him, lifting the lid from the box and taking May's word as law. "Simmons and May are sharks."

"I think I can hold my own."

"Why don't you bank, Skye?" May asks, crossing her hands over her knee.

Everything in the room freezes, except for Trip, obliviously taking the board and unfolding it over the table.

"Really?" Skye responds, her smile pleased, but her eyes confused.

"Really."

"But you always-"

"Things change." May shrugs, and instead of staying in the chair, she moves to quickly sit on the floor next to Simmons. She picks up the iron from the tray of tokens. "But I'm always the iron."

Coulson places the lantern on GO. It's still his favorite piece; one of the reasons he only plays with the older sets. Skye puts the purse in line. It's become her default, sparing anyone else from the one girly piece on the board. Simmons and Trip both hesitate, and when Trip picks up the top hat, Simmons shakes her head sadly.

"You should be the rocking horse," Skye tells Trip, quickly removing the piece from his hand and giving it to Simmons, who turns it over and over in one palm. "You know, cause you rock." She leans into him and whispers, low enough that Simmons can't hear on the other side of the table, "Fitz is always the hat." Trip nods in understanding and places the rocking horse on the board while Skye starts counting money.

Simmons takes a breath and instead of putting the top hat back and playing with her usual thimble, she places the hat on the first square of the game, a determined set overcoming her soft features. "Just so you all know," she mutters, "I'm not going easy on any of you, so you shouldn't go easy on me either."

Coulson nods his head in approval and May gives a rare and genuine smile at the young girl next to her. When Koenig asks if he can join them a few moments later, he's armed with a tray full of drinks and a bowl of popcorn. Simmons trades him the thimble game piece for the popcorn, holding the snack in her lap with a very small smile.

"Did you know," Skye asks Trip, doing her best to imitate the tone of voice Simmons uses when she imparts pieces of wisdom to people, "that during World War II the game tokens in Monopoly were made of wood since all the metal was being used for weapons?"

Trip keeps the lazy smile on his face. "I did. Did you know that early versions of the game didn't even have game tokens? People were supposed to use buttons and other junk from around the house to play."

"Huh. Simmons never told me that one."

Coulson smiles as the game begins. They might be down. But they aren't out. Not yet.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monopoly was suggested by Salkri Kachemench.


	14. Night

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Night.

-o-

The first time she had the dream, it was only hours after she first woke, gunshot wound to the abdomen tightly sewn shut. All she wanted to do was get up and walk it off. But she couldn't.

-o-

_Crack._

_She wanted to run. Fight or flight instincts were kicking in. That's probably what Simmons would tell her anyway. It was a biological reaction. She wasn't strong enough to fight though, and there was nowhere to go. He had one hand pressed to her shoulder, the other holding the gun to her middle, and there was nothing she could do except gasp through the pain._

_Crack._

_She could physically feel the life leaving her body through a hole in her gut, draining out of her like stale beer being poured from a glass bottle down the drain. Pretty soon she would be empty. She had to move. She had to get help._

-o-

Skye's eyes popped open. She didn't scream. She didn't jump out of bed. She didn't make any kind of sudden movements at all. The monitor beeping in the corner let her know that her heart rate was way above normal though.

"Great," she muttered to herself. She drew in a breath and wondered how long it would take. "Ten seconds," she mumbled, trying to slowly prop herself up on the pillow, trying to make herself more sturdy in the wake of the disorienting dream.

"What are you doing?" The British lilt sounded a little tired and a little annoyed. It met her ears much sooner than ten seconds.

"You have to stop trying to get up, Skye." The Scottish brogue was fuzzier and even more annoyed, and less expected.

Huh. It was three in the morning and Simmons had somehow managed to get Fitz up and down here with her in case she needed help to get Skye back in bed. In much less than the ten seconds Skye thought it would take. She was going to think about that when she was more awake and her brain wasn't readjusting from her disturbing dream state.

"I wasn't trying to get up," Skye whispered, not wanting to wake up the rest of the team on a night when there was no reason for them to be up and mission ready. "I was just trying to get comfortable." She was a better liar than the two scientists combined. She was pretty sure they would buy that as an excuse for an elevated heart rate.

"Fitz, get her another pillow," Simmons commanded. He disappeared from the room without a second thought, returning less than a minute later with another pillow clutched in his hands, gently helping Skye lean forward and maneuvering it behind her.

It smelled vaguely of lavender, so Skye was fairly certain this belonged to Simmons, not that she would miss it if how quickly the two of them showed up in the same spot from the same direction in the middle of the night was any indication. Propped up with a little extra oomph at her neck, she decided not to call them on it. She was much more comfortable this way anyway. She would just file that piece of information away and save it for later. It was sweet.

They only fussed over her for a few moments before Fitz yawned, and Skye sleepily remarked, "you guys even have matching pajamas."

The painkillers Jemma had her on were strong, and as the world faded around her, they left her to her dreams.

-o-

_Crack._

_Jemma lurched back, clutching her abdomen in shock, what little color she had leaving her face, and Skye screamed from her vantage point across the room. That wasn't supposed to happen. This is not how it went down. Jemma was not supposed to be in the basement. There wasn't supposed to be blood coming through the sweater she was wearing. Fitz wasn't supposed to be clutching at her, trying to stop Jemma from falling to the floor._

_Crack._

_Fitz followed and the pair of them were leaning against the stone wall now, clutching one another, the life leaving them all too slowly. It was all Skye could do to not throw up, to run to the bottom of the stairs and call for help, but no one was coming this time._

-o-

Her eyes popped open, lungs aching for air and ears registering the frantic beeping of the heart monitor next to her.

"Oh, shut up," Sky mumbled, closing her eyes and trying to go back to sleep. She was tired of this. These stupid bad dreams were more of a nuisance than anything else. The pain in her stomach, the weakness of her muscles, the medication she was having to take, they all made her so very tired. She just wanted to sleep without visions of the few people she cared about being shot.

-o-

_Crack._

_Ward raised his gun with one hand, the other clutching his middle, ready to fire back, but staggering on his feet. Quinn jumped out of the way just in time._

_Ward, who never missed, missed._

-o-

Skye blinked uncertainly in the early light of the morning. Wherever they were flying, the sun was just coming up. Three days since the team had saved her. Three days of these annoying dreams. If her abdominal muscles weren't aching so much, she would have a headache.

Every time she closed her eyes, someone else was getting shot instead of her now. Maybe it was because her body was healing and some part of her knew that she wasn't in any danger, but locked in this portable medical pod, there was nothing she could do if any of the rest of the team _was_ in danger. It was starting to get to her. She just wanted to get up and help. With anything.

But right now, she really had to pee.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Skye glanced around uncertainly. She didn't hear anything. She didn't see anything, not that she could see much from the small set of windows afforded her in here. She pushed a little harder and slowly sat all the way up, her vision swimming from being horizontal for so long. Pulling the blanket from her legs, Skye swung her legs over the side of the bed, which was really little more than a gurney. She hesitated, not sure how serious Simmons had been about Skye probably not able to hold up her own weight for a while. Simmons had been steadily helping her to and from the bathrooms every few hours, so afraid Skye couldn't make the walk on her own. Well, Skye would show her. She slid her body from the gurney as slowly as she could, a painful heat spreading through her stomach as she did, and she almost collapsed onto the floor, but May was suddenly there, catching her just under her elbows, holding her steady.

Skye breathed hard, but her heartbeat was barely elevated. At least Simmons wasn't likely to come running in.

"Thanks," she barely got out.

"Bathroom?" May asked, keeping her tone level, betraying no sign of annoyance or anger at her, something Simmons had failed to do every time she had come running in. Simmons was all panic at Skye's state, all the time.

"Yes."

"Slow."

Apparently, they were only going to converse one word at a time. Well, that was fine with Skye. May was usually a woman of very few words anyway. Skye grunted her assent as May very cautiously led her from the medical pod and down the hall to one of the two facilities on the bus. When they got to the door, May opened it, held it open, and when she was sure Skye could maneuver herself through the room by hand holds on the sink and the wall, she shut the door. _Probably standing guard out there, just in case I fall and open up my stitches_ , Skye thought to herself.

She took care of herself and as she washed her hands, she stared into the mirror. She looked awful. Pale. Disheveled. Sweaty. Skye cupped her hands, filling the space with cold water and splashing her face with it. She repeated the process several times, running her fingers over her skin, trying to get the sheen of sweat from her. She still had that lovely hospital bed glow. Skye hurriedly ran fingers through her hair to try and detangle it, sure that May was going to get impatient, even if she would try not to show it. With a sigh, she made her way back to the door, hands gripping the wall as best she could to get there. It opened before she could even grab the knob. May must have been anticipating her, listening for her. It was a little bit creepy, but Skye new better than to say so as she leaned on her to get back to the med pod.

"Common room?"

"Simmons says you have to stay in the med pod. Make sure your immune system isn't going to reject the treatment."

"It's been three days, wouldn't it have done that by now?"

"I don't know."

It's the first time Skye's ever heard May admit that she doesn't have an answer, or at least an idea, about something. It didn't exactly scare her, but it gave her pause. It made her wonder just what this miracle drug was that they used to save her, and why no one had told her anything about it. And why Simmons kept running blood panels on her three or four times a day. It would be enough to make her worry.

If she was the kind of person who worried.

Skye's been on her own since she dropped out of high school. Sure, she's had boyfriends, and a few not that close friends. But she's been on her own. She's avoided getting arrested on multiple occasions. She's lured agents from a super-secret agency out of hiding. And she's become a part of it, even if she's only technically a consultant. She cares about these people, and she gets the feeling, even though she doesn't know everything, that they pulled out all kinds of stops to save her, so she knows they care about her.

It's different. Having so many people that care about her, that want to keep her safe, that want her to rest up and recover. She wasn't used to it.

She hobbled alongside May back to the pod that had none of the comforts she's come to associate with her very own bunk. She wanted something that's all hers. That at least was a familiar feeling.

"Do you think," she wheezed as May helped her climb back into her bed, "I could at least have my computer?"

"I'm not having Simmons come after me because you're not resting." May's voice was flat, but once Skye reclined back against her pillows, May pulled the blanket up over her, tucking her in like a mother would a sick child, gently and securely. She squeezed Skye's shoulder without allowing a smile to come through. "You really do need to rest. You can't push yourself too soon when you just had major surgery." She paused, not looking at Skye as she turned to leave the room. "Even if you don't like what you see when you close your eyes, your body needs the sleep."

Skye didn't have a chance to answer her, to explain that dreams were just dreams, they didn't bother her. She grew up with bad dreams. Bad dreams weren't the things that actually went bump in the night. Things inside her own head didn't scare her. The possibility of monsters in her closet hadn't scared her. She was a big girl, and she could handle this. Just like she always had. May was already through the door and half way down the hall before she even opened her mouth to respond though.

-o-

Between Simmons checking on her, Fitz playing card games with her, Ward bringing her meals, Skye felt like the whole "you need to rest" speech she kept getting from everyone was a crock. If they wanted her to sleep, wouldn't they all quit poking their heads into her room, sticking her with needles, and talking to her about how she was making such great progress? After a couple of naps, caused by the pain killers provided by the nearly ever present Dr. Simmons, Skye woke up to Coulson sitting by her bed side, his eyes studying her.

"What?" She asked him groggily, the medicine not having worn off yet.

"You sleeping okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Not what I asked."

Skye sighed and turned her head slowly to face him better, careful not to twist her waist too much. She knew better at this point. "I'd sleep better if everyone wasn't always in here checking on me," she told him matter-of-factly, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Coulson smiled. "We all just want to make sure you're okay. We went through a lot to get you back." He tapped one hand carefully on the edge of her gurney. "Besides, I think if we left you alone for too long, you'd be trying to run around the bus on your own, get yourself into all kinds of trouble."

Skye shrugged. "I get bored easy."

"I know. Just try not to overdo it, okay?"

"Okay, AC."

When he left a few minutes later, Skye realized that he didn't tell her not to call him AC. That's how she knew he was really worried about her. She wondered if May had said something to him about her having nightmares. She didn't think May would. Maybe it was something else.

-o-

_She looked around the room in bewilderment. It was dark and damp, the only light coming from the contraption off to one side. Everything else was fuzzy. Ian Quinn pointed his gun at her, and she opened her mouth to protest._

_Crack._

_The body that fell in front of her wasn't her own. It was Coulson. She could smell the blood coming from the open wound._

_Someone was saying 'no' over and over, sobs mostly obscuring the word. Distantly, she realized it was her. But this was all wrong. This wasn't how it happened. Again._

_Crack._

-o-

Gasping for air, and to her surprise, tears on her face, Skye struggled to sit up, looking around wildly, wanting to make sure she was still on the bus, that this time it was still a dream. Everything had felt more real than the last ones. She could still smell the copper of blood and the heat of gunpowder.

Her heart rate monitor was beeping wildly next to her, so she grabbed the chord and yanked on it until the noise stopped. Chest heaving, the muscles in her abdomen tightened painfully against her, and she was worried she was going to throw up or something.

Pounding footsteps echoed in the hall. A lot of them. It sounded like the entire team was on their way.

Skye hastily wiped at her eyes, trying to hide the evidence that she had woken up crying. She didn't want to answer any questions.

It was May who came through the door first, and when her eyes met Skye's, she held one hand up behind her, turning around to look at whomever was on her heels.

"Is she alright?" Ward's voice wasn't as low as his hoarse whisper was trying to be. "Simmons said-"

"Tell the others she's fine. I've got it under control. She doesn't need a doctor."

May didn't allow for any discussion, turning on her heel and coming into the medical pod, shutting the door behind her.

"I didn't think you needed an audience," May explained, walking stiffly towards the bed. She tucked her hands behind her back and surveyed Skye's current state. Her eyes were red, not just from poor sleep. She was breathing hard, her face pale. One hand was clenching and unclenching the blanket covering her legs, and the muscles in her other arm were trembling from trying to hold up her weight.

Skye cleared her throat and nodded her head, but she didn't say anything in response. She flinched when May approached her, but relaxed when May cautiously rearranged her pillows so that Skye was propped up without having to hold up too much of her own weight.

"I'm f-"

"You're not fine," May cut her off. She shook her head firmly when Skye opened her mouth to protest again. "I know you think you are. But when something bad happens to you in the field, it stays with you, no matter how much you think it doesn't. In the short time that you've been with us, you've seen a lot of bad things happen. It's okay for them to affect you. You just can't let them get in your head."

"I keep seeing Quinn when he shot me. Except he's not shooting me."

May nodded in understanding.

"How do you stop it?" Skye asked her, eyes staring at a spot on the blanket instead of at May.

"You don't." May told her sharply. Sighing, May took a seat in the spot where Skye usually found Coulson. "The nightmares are going to happen, no matter what. Here's what you need to know about nightmares though – they're your dreams. They're happening in your head. And you can change them. Your dreams are just your brain reorganizing things you've been thinking about during the day. You're worried about the team since you've been shot, and that's how your subconscious is interpreting it."

It's the most Skye has ever heard May say to her at one time, and she glanced at her curiously. "You sound like Simmons."

"She'd probably tell you the same thing," May acknowledged. "Here's something she probably won't tell you though. The next time you see Ian Quinn picking up his gun in one of your dreams, remember that we caught him. We have him in custody. And I hit him. A lot. Broke his nose."

"You did?" Skye knew she shouldn't smile, but with all the differences they had, the fact that May would break Ian Quinn's nose for her meant a lot.

"We're a team, Skye. Nobody has to go through anything alone. He comes after anyone on my team again, I won't just break his nose." May offered a rare smile back.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

May nodded, and it didn't take long before Skye's eyelids were falling shut. May reattached all of the monitors Simmons had in place so that the scientist wouldn't worry. Skye's breathing evened out, her heartbeat strong and steady.

-o-

_Dank. Dark. Musty. The basement was always the same. So was Ian Quinn's smug face while he pointed a gun at her._

_Crack._

_The pain flared in her abdomen, just like it always did, but this time, no tears tracked down her cheeks, no gasping for air. And no one else was hit by the bullet. Just as Quinn tightened his grip on her shoulder and pushed the bullet into her stomach, a creak sounded on one of the steps behind her._

_Click._

_Woosh._

_Skye felt wind as something passed just inches from her skull. A blue dot appeared in the middle of Quinn's forehead, dark veins spidering out from it, and he collapsed in a heap in front of her._

_May's strong hands held Skye up as Simmons and Coulson looked her over._

-o-

Skye slept through the night for the first time in a week.

-o-


	15. Orientation

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Orientation.

-o-

"I don't think this is necessary," Coulson stated, his gaze locked with Koenig's.

"Sir, I know your team has had a rough go of it, but it's my job to make sure everyone is on the same page. That's what Orientation is for." He nodded his head passionately as he spoke. "It won't take long to work with each of them."

May had been watching their discussion, and she turned her gaze from them to Trip's awestruck expression at having been led to yet another secret compound, Skye's exhaustion laden face from the work they'd been doing the last few days, and Simmons forcefully erect stance, who's eyes kept darting back to a hallway that none of them had been down yet. May had a feeling their missing teammate was probably down there with his very own team of doctors. Simmons sniffed, trying to hold back tears, but she stood even straighter, eyes blinking rapidly, and staved them off. Skye yawned and put her arm around the other girl's shoulders. They had all just been given a quick tour of the facility, but neither of those women were going to be up to going through the SHIELD secret base version of Orientation right now.

"Sir?" She called out, feeling everyone's attention snap to her, first and foremost Coulson, whom she rarely addressed as Sir. He was always Coulson, or when it was just the two of them, Phil. "I think we could all use a breather, a second to get our bearings, some rest." She inclined her head, just slightly at the women at her side. "We should take the test later?"

"I could eat," Trip added, trying to keep his tone light, but like May, he was carefully watching Simmons and Skye.

"I need to shower," Skye mumbled, trying to hold in another yawn, "wash the Ward off of me." She tried to say the last part under her breath, but May still heard her. Skye didn't wait for anyone to respond, just dropped her arm from around Simmons and began walking in the general direction that she remembered Koenig showing them the bathrooms.

Koenig opened his mouth as though to say something to her, but at the look May shot him, he closed it again. Coulson nodded his head.

"Alright, uh, Trip, you want to see what you can get started for breakfast then?" Coulson turned his attention back to Koenig. "Show me your security system." He and Koenig began to walk down the hall while May followed Skye. Simmons stood awkwardly in the open space of the entry way, not sure what she was supposed to do now. "We'll meet for breakfast in half an hour," Coulson called over his shoulder. She took that to mean she was meant to help prepare the food.

-o-

Thirty-five minutes later, the team was gathered around a table, plates in front of each of them piled high with bacon and eggs and bagels that were likely from the large freezer the compound housed. There was no way Koenig was taking deliveries of fresh groceries every few days here. Simmons pushed a couple of bites of eggs around on her plate before setting her fork gently to the side. May passed her a cup of tea and Simmons shot her a grateful smile. She didn't really have the stomach to eat, unlike Skye and Trip who seemed to be competing with who could eat the most bacon.

"I think this is the best bacon I've ever had in my life," Skye gushed before taking another bite. She moaned in a way that could have been obscene in other circumstances.

"That's just the protein talking. You burn a lot of it in combat," Trip told her conversationally, chewing carefully on his egg whites, and staying away from the bagels altogether.

May watched the two of them, sitting side by side on the other end of the table, seemingly oblivious to the quietly controlled bundle of energy in Simmons sitting across from them. The young woman was staring at her plate, no longer putting up a pretense of eating, both of her hands wrapped around the mug in her hands. She seemed quiet and reserved, so unlike her usual bubbly self, but she didn't look tired. Instead, it was like all of her muscles were wound tight, a series of coiled springs ready to unwind as soon as they were tapped. May took the seat next to her, silently slipping into the empty space so as not to startle her. She could almost see the wheels in Simmons head turning, but May wasn't sure if she was running through medical knowledge to help her out-of-commission colleague or if she was replaying the events of the last few days.

Trip and Skye both flicked their gaze over to Simmons periodically though, and May realized belatedly (she must have been slightly off her game this morning) that the duo were talking up the food in an effort to get the other girl to notice it. Skye finally remarked, "Simmons, you have got to try this bacon. Seriously, I don't know what Trip did to it, but I think he should be on breakfast duty forever."

Simmons looked up from her plate, her eyes cloudy. "I'm not really hungry, sorry," she smiled at him apologetically.

Trip shrugged it off. They had plenty of time to get her to eat. You could only resist the smell of bacon for so long. It was a proven fact that even vegetarians salivated at the smell. There had been studies. He didn't think this was the appropriate time to point it out though.

When Koenig entered the room, a pitcher of orange juice in his hands, Simmons quickly stood. "I'll go first," she told him, throwing everyone for a loop. "I'd like to get my Orientation session done, please."

Koenig faltered, almost dropping the pitcher of orange juice in his haste to put it on the table. "I've already set up the machine for Agent May. I thought she was going first…" He looked to Coulson who nodded his head, and Simmons shot them a bewildered look.

"I-"

"You've got nothing but time, Dr. Simmons," Coulson said gently.

-o-

May fought the urge to scratch at her wrists while she sat, for all intents and purposes, shackled to a lie detector chair in a dark room at the back of the base. A part of her wanted to give Koenig false answers, see how the machine would react to her lies, check and make sure for her own piece of mind that someone like Ward couldn't fool this one.

She didn't. But she could have. It almost wasn't fair. The questions were, for the most part, exactly the same as the ones administered by the late Koenig. It occurred to her half way through the test when she began reciting answers before Billy asked them that maybe there needed to be some sort of protocol in place for new questions for agents who had been to multiple ghost sites. She would bring it up with Coulson as part of their rebuild. Of course, knowing Coulson, he wouldn't want the ghost sites to even exist in the future. Not the way they did now.

Billy Koenig looked incredibly flustered as she finally told him, "as for why I'm here, I'm here because Coulson needs people he can trust around him to rebuild this agency. He needs people he can count on to make the hard choices. And I'm one of those people. It's the right thing to do." She paused, took in Koenig's appearance. "If that's all, I'll send in Triplett."

Koenig nodded, taking a lanyard out of the desk in front of him and quickly setting up the program to link its electronic signature to her name. When May left the room, lanyard in hand, Trip, Simmons, and Skye were all waiting outside.

"You're up, Trip," she said smoothly, trying very hard to ignore the expression on Simmons face when she did. She knew the scientist wanted to get her time in the chair over with, that the young woman would be nothing but honest, but May also knew that she needed some time to calm down. Her emotional state was going to mess with the readings. Simmons thought the sooner she could get in and prove herself trustworthy to Koenig, the sooner she would have full access to the base, and to Fitz, but that wouldn't be true if she blew her test.

Trip nodded his head in understanding and walked through the doors. Unlike May, he waited patiently for Koenig to ask his questions, answering them as thoroughly as he could, taking up as much time as he could. It was easy with his slow curling speech. He acted like he was hanging out with a friend, shooting the breeze, instead of sitting in a chair that had hundreds of readings to take from his body. Koenig must have realized just what he was doing though, and he began to read his questions faster.

"You're stranded on a deserted island alone and a box washes up on shore. What's in the box?" He sped through the words like he was trying to beat the clock on a game show, intent on finishing this interview quickly.

"Well, a sat phone. That's the best way to go, right?" Trip drawled. "Then I could call someone to come find me. If I called someone like Skye, she could probably even pin point my location down to the grains of sand I was standin' on," he joked, but Koenig didn't laugh. "Really, the girl's got skills."

"Tell me, Agent Triplett, is there a reason you are answering my questions so thoroughly instead of speeding through them like Agent May? You've all seen these kinds of questions before from what I understand." Koenig made a note on the paper in front of him, eyes on the console with all the readings instead of on the man to whom he was speaking. He preferred not to think about the fact that the last man who asked the team these questions looked exactly like him, and ended up dead. "Is there a reason you don't want me to interview your teammates?"

"I just want to make sure you get everything you need." Trip responded. He heard a beep, sure that something on the console spiked at that half-truth. "And I want to make sure that Simmons and Skye _can_ answer your questions. They've had a rough couple of days."

"So have you."

"I can handle it."

"They can't?"

"They aren't as used to being in combat situations. I've had longer to deal with the fact that someone I trusted betrayed me. Betrayed all of us. I've lost teammates in the past. I'm better equipped to handle my emotions right now." Trip suddenly felt like he needed to get out of that chair as fast as humanly possible despite everything he was saying, but he knew he still had questions to answer. "You want to know why I'm here now, right?"

Koenig nodded. When agents showed up at a secret base and the entire agency was in crisis, finding out why those agents stuck with the job was a necessary question.

"They're why I'm here. Them, Coulson, you, May, my grandfather, Captain America, Agent Carter. People who were loyal to the idea of protecting people who couldn't help themselves. People who do the right thing because it's the right thing, not because they get power from it. It's important to show people that Hydra isn't SHIELD's legacy. It's important to show the world that we're still going to protect them, even if they think they hate us."

Koenig nodded his head again, then opened his mouth to ask him another question.

"You said you've had time to adjust to the idea of how to deal with a teammate's betrayal. If one of the people here at the Playground were to betray SHIELD, would you be able to take them out of the equation?"

Images of Simmons and Skye and May and Coulson swam in Trip's head. He couldn't imagine any of them betraying SHIELD. They had all been hurt too deeply by recent events. They all wanted to make the world a better place, but not at the expense of people in it. But if one of them turned on the team, if one of them went over to the other side, aligned themselves with Hydra, would he be able to put a bullet in them? No. He would be able to knock them out, cuff them, and bring them back to a holding cell and let the others work out their anger with them though. That was one way to take them out of the equation.

"Yes. Without a doubt."

For one tense moment, Koenig examined the screens in front of him.

"Congratulations, Agent Triplett. You can remove the sensors. It will take me just a second to get you a lanyard."

When Triplett walked through the doors to see the two women outside, they were both leaning up against the wall, staring at the floor, shoulders touching, but giving no real sign that they were aware of one another's presence.

"Skye? Your turn."

She nodded and Simmons made a noise in her throat, but rolled her eyes as though she expected that.

Skye marched inside and began to hook up the censors herself, remembering where all of the different chords and stickers went from her last bout with a supposedly unbeatable lie detector.

"Oh," Koenig said as he shut the door behind him, "I was going to-"

"I got it." Skye smiled gently at him. "Your brother was pretty thorough in explaining what everything did to me. I had never seen one of these before."

"Oh," Koenig repeated. "I forget that Eric interviewed you all at Providence." He turned his gaze from the woman in front of him and took a seat in his chair again, eyes narrowed in on the screen, pen clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned briefly white. He was glad he didn't have any of those sensors reading his own body. "State your name, please."

"Skye."

"No last name?"

Skye almost smiled at how alike they were, Eric and Billy. She wondered if there were more of them, or if they were simply twins. She wouldn't put it past SHIELD to have had some sort of human cloning trial going on decades ago and stock each of Nick Fury's secret bases with their own Koenig. It was creepy, but somehow fitting.

"No last name. No family. No family name to pass down." Skye sighed and told him, as she had his brother, about the name the nuns had given her, how much she hated it, and how Skye was the first name that she connected with. "I've thought about giving myself a last name someday. When I find one that really fits me, you know?"

"You can always borrow Koenig if you like. It's a nice, strong name," he told her conversationally, pen poised over a piece of paper in front of him, grip more relaxed now.

"Thanks. I'll think about it." The machine beeped and Skye let out half a laugh. "Maybe I won't."

After his series of baseline questions, Koenig got back down to business.

"You're stranded on a deserted island alone and a box washes up on shore, what's in the box?"

Skye went completely quiet, unsure. Her mind was a total blank for one of the first times in her life. She had joked about a laptop, about how comfortable she was with computers the last time she was asked, then admitted it was a stupid idea without wi-fi. The truth was, she was comfortable with electronics, but she knew that they weren't the only thing that could help her.

"Just say the first thing that pops into your head," Billy encouraged her.

"A way to contact Coulson or May," she told him after another short pause. "They always have a plan. They would be able to find me, help me get home. Like they did before."

"Home?"

"Well, here I guess. Or wherever the team was."

"Is that why you're here? Your team?"

Skye drew in a breath, trying to think of the best way to explain. "I've never had a family. I grew up around different strangers every few months. I never even really had a best friend. I always just had to look out for me. But those people out there?" She pointed to the door where she knew Simmons was waiting, just on the other side, probably with Trip since it was unlikely he was going to leave her alone right now. Skye wouldn't have. "They're the closest thing I've got. I got shot, almost died, and they saved me. Simmons got so sick, she jumped out of a plane to make sure she didn't kill us all. When Coulson was taken by Raina, we saved him. Even Trip picked us over anybody else in SHIELD. We stick together. We're family. I wouldn't want to try to save the world with anyone else." Skye, who almost never allowed herself a moment to cry, swiped angrily at her face when she discovered tears were threatening to fall. She cleared her throat. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Just a couple more." Koenig hesitated. Prying into people's personal lives made him a tad uncomfortable now, especially since he didn't have a whole lot of interaction with other agents the last year or so. "Since you are so very close with your team, if you were to find out that another member defected to Hydra, would you be able to relieve them of their duties?"

"Depends," Skye answered. She paused, and deduced from the lack of beeping and the look on Koenig's face that there was no flag on her readouts from that answer. "I mean, say Simmons or Trip betrayed us. It would never happen, but say that it did – I could probably get them away from any weapons and lock them in a room, sure. If it was AC or May though? They'd be able to take me out faster than I could them. Have you seen May in a fight? Nothing can touch her."

"AC?"

"Agent Coulson. I'm the only one who can call him that." She laughed. "He doesn't really like it."

"Noted." Koenig gave a half smile.

"Are we good?"

"Yes. Congratulations." Koenig's words didn't have the celebratory tone to him that normally went with them, and she spotted him wiping at his own eyes as well. She wondered if all the questions about betrayal were more because he lost his brother than the possibility that another team member could go to the dark side. "I'll have your lanyard for you in just a moment."

"Yeah, sure." Skye decided not to mention that she knew he was really just tagging them all so he could track their movements throughout the base. It didn't seem like the right time. Besides, those lanyard-trackers had proven useful for her at Providence. She wasn't going to knock them just yet. Instead, she began to detach all of the chair's equipment from herself.

When she took the lanyard from him and exited to the hallway, she found that May was back and that Triplett, as suspected, had never left. The two of them, lanyards around their neck, were standing on either side of Simmons. Triplett tentatively reached out, his fingertips on her elbow and urged her forward. Simmons seemed to shake herself out of a daze before she stood to her full height and determinedly marched into the room, briefly grabbing Skye's wrist and nodding at her as she did.

Simmons shut the door behind herself and forced her feet across the room to the chair. She, like Skye, quickly and efficiently connected herself to all of the chair's monitors while Koenig set up her profile in the system. When he opened his mouth, she beat him to the punch, adopting the May method of taking this lie detector test and quickly spit out her full name, the members of her family, her age, how long she had been with SHIELD, her voice shaking every so often.

Koenig gave a sigh when she paused to take a breath.

"Agent Simmons?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me the difference between a rock and an egg." His voice was flat.

She scoffed. She needed to tell Coulson that question was a ridiculous piece of the standard list. It needed to be replaced with something more concrete.

"There are, in effect, hundreds, if not thousands, of differences between those two items. How many differences would you like me to list?" She snapped, not amused as she was the first time she was faced with this. Question like this did nothing but waste precious time. "Should I tell you the various compounds that make them up, or that one can be used to kill someone, although I guess they technically both could if one was somehow allergic to eggs, or perhaps you'd like me to tell you that one of them is edible, or that one is more easily smashed than the other, or-"

"That will do, thank you."

She watched Koenig watch the monitors in front of him. He appeared confused. She didn't much want to think about what. Nothing she was saying was a lie. They hadn't really even begun with the more difficult questions yet.

"Are you currently taking any medication for your injuries?" He asked her, brow furrowed as he hit one button, then another.

"No."

"Do you need to be?"

"What? No." Simmons clenched her fists, fingernails biting into her palms. She would be left with small half-moon shaped marks along the sensitive skin, but she didn't much care. It wasn't like she didn't have scrapes and scratches scattered along her hairline already. She took one long breath in and another out. "Why?"

"Your readings are… perplexing. It doesn't appear to match the typical readouts we see for physical pain, but it doesn't fit with lying either. It's more like…" Koenig hesitated trying to put the peaks and valleys he was seeing on the screen from her various readings into a different context. "… emotional distress."

"Well, imagine that. I'm emotionally distressed," she remarked flatly.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I- I don't know how that's going to effect the rest of your Orientation." Koenig looked up at her helplessly, and Simmons softened a bit around the edges. It was easy to see this as his fault, but he was just following the protocols in place for the base. She couldn't really blame him.

"It's alright." She shrugged, holding back another wave of tears. "We'll just have to keep going, won't we?"

Koenig nodded his head. He was doing a lot of nodding today. He was starting to feel like one of those bobblehead figurines. He didn't like those. He thought they were a little creepy. Their eyes followed you.

-o-

Skye pressed her ear to the door in concentration. She had left Trip holding her lanyard on the other side of the hall, just in case Koenig was already tracking them.

"You do realize that room is likely soundproof?" May asked her, arms crossed, feet spread apart, prepared to jump to Skye's defense if necessary. She didn't usually condone such juvenile antics from the younger agents, but she, like the rest of the team, was worried about Simmons.

"Shhh. I think I heard Simmons saying something about going?"

"Going, like leaving?" Triplett asked in alarm, had tilting slightly to the side while he watched Skye.

Skye rolled her eyes and moved her head away from the wall. "I don't know. I. Can't. Hear. Them. When. You're. Talking." She pointedly narrowed her eyes and took up her former stance.

"You'll keep an eye on her." It wasn't a question. It was a statement to Triplett as May jutted her chin in Skye's direction. "I'm going to make sure Coulson doesn't come down this way and have a reason to suspend half the agency in its first day as a new agency."

Triplett snorted in amusement, then straightened when he realized she was serious. "Yes, ma'am."

May stalked down the hall, careful not to make a sound so as not to disturb Skye's attempts at listening in on the Orientation.

-o-

"Okay, Dr. Simmons. I think we've got your baseline a bit more under control now. But just to make sure… You're alone on a deserted island and a box washes up on shore. What's in the box?"

Koenig, it wasn't his fault, Simmons reminded herself, if he didn't understand why the idea of a box in the middle of the water wasn't going to do anything to even out her emotional state. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, trying to allow her mind to process this request logically instead of emotionally.

_I'm alone on an island. There's a box. What do I need in the box?_

"I- I don't know." Jemma whispered the words in surprise. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was coming to her. She was sure she had provided a clever and honest answer the last time, but all she could see as she thought about it was the walls of a pod around her, medical supplies scattered on the floor, Fitz's arm in a sling as he smiled at her. She could hear her own screams echoing as an explosion made water rush around her. A sob escaped and she bent her head, breathing rapidly, trying to calm herself down.

"Agent Simmons? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"It's alright," she panted. "Just give me a second, okay?"

Koenig didn't say anything, just flicked his gaze from the screens in front of him to the girl in the chair with concern. He had just managed to get her levels to even out, and now, everything was going haywire. There was nothing but sharp ridges in the lines on screen, an angry red blinking from the readings of her eyes, her heartbeat was going on three times the rate it should. He hadn't been thinking, had just been sticking to the script. It hadn't occurred to him that she had just been in a box in the middle of the water.

With a gulp of air, Simmons sat up straight, "I'm alright," she repeated, her voice steady. Her heart was still thudding in her chest, but she was focused, controlled.

-o-

"Anything?" Triplett asked Skye, abandoning his post across the hall and coming to stand next to her.

"I think she's crying," Skye told him worriedly, standing and reaching for the doorknob.

"Wait," Triplett grabbed Skye's wrist and leaned in himself, pressing his ear to the vulnerable spot on the door, just inches from where it pressed into the jamb. "It's quiet." The faint sounds of Simmons voice reverberated from somewhere beyond the frame.

_I'm alright. Let's keep going._

"She's tough," he told Skye. "She wants to keep going."

"Of course she does."

-o-

"Okay," Koenig repeated his question, "a box comes to you while you are alone on a deserted island, what's in it?"

Simmons focused her eyes on him, her brain narrowing in on the fact that he very delicately left out the part about the box coming to her from the sea. She wasn't an idiot. She knew he was trying to help. But the bloody island was still in the middle of the bloody ocean, wasn't it?

"The Tardis," she responded levelly.

It was the same answer she had given before, she remembered now, and it had solved all of her problems. It could take her anywhere she needed to go in time or space in the blink of an eye. That's what she wanted, wasn't it? Koenig gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and she realized the machine must have found that answer to be a lie. She closed her eyes against the machine's readings and thought. This was supposed to be your gut answer, the first thing to come to your head. What was the first thing that popped into her head when asked about the box coming to shore?

The image of the scattered medical supplies on the floor of the pod came back to her, and she opened her eyes with a sigh, remembering the object that had been shoved into her hands by the other occupant of the pod, the way he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Oxygen," she mumbled. "An oxygen mask. A tank. A breathing tube. Something to swim with. Something to get away." She was crying again, but she ignored it this time, just letting the tears fall.

"So, scuba gear," Koenig prodded, nodding again. "Okay, good." It was his turn to take in a breath. "Okay, now, just a few more questions, alright?"

"Yes."

Simmons clawed her fingers back into her palms slowly and deliberately, then stretched her fingers back out again. The pain in her palms helped keep her focused.

"Your team has had to experience a lot of betrayal recently. If you discovered that another member of your team was providing information to Hydra, would you be able to remove them from the team equation?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation on her part. Her eyes widened in surprise, and Jemma was tempted to look behind her to see if someone else had said that. Would she be able to stop one of them? They all, even Skye, had more experience in the field than she did, more experience with weapons than she did. She pictured the Hydra agents who had stolen their bus, the ones who had worked for Garrett, the ones who had tried to hold her and Fitz captive, the one who had sent them to the middle of the sea. If anyone on their team tried to put her or Fitz in another situation like that again, she had no doubt that she could do it. She could stop them. She would stop them. By any means necessary. She wasn't afraid of that. She sniffed.

"Okay, one last question. SHIELD fell with the reveal of Hydra's infiltration. Director Coulson is here because he's been entrusted with rebuilding the organization. Why are you here?" Koenig poised his pen above the file in front of him, his eyes firmly on her readings on the screen. He decided that he's finding it easier to question the very fragile woman in front of him if he doesn't look her in the eye.

"Where else am I supposed to go?" She gave a half-hearted smile in his direction before realizing he wasn't looking at her anymore. "You know, when we went to find Providence, Skye did her best to erase all trace that any of us had existed. I don't have an electronic footprint anymore. I haven't spoken with my family in weeks. They probably think I'm dead. God, I hope they don't think I'm dead." She pursed her lips together briefly, tears sliding slowly down her face. "I'm here to help. I'm here because I do believe in what SHIELD stood for, protection. I believe in what the team does. I want to help people. But…" She hesitated, knowing that everything she said was likely being flagged as a lie because it wasn't the reason she was here, in this room, right now. "Right now, right this moment, I'm here for Fitz. Even though so much of SHIELD's research has been destroyed, some of the most advanced medical knowledge and equipment is a direct result of that research, and I'm going to need access to whatever is left to help Fitz _when_ he wakes up."

"You care about him very much." Koenig doesn't phrase it as a question. He's already decided several questions ago that she would get a lanyard. "I'm sorry about what's happened to him. Your team, you've been through a lot."

His sympathy was genuine, Simmons could see that, even though he kept pushing for more answers to his questions.

"Can I ask you a question?"

-o-

Skye swiped at her eyes and Triplett put an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, we need to let her finish." As Skye nodded her head and looked the other way, he led her back to the other side of the hall where they could wait for Simmons without eavesdropping on anymore of her session with Koenig. He surreptitiously wiped at his own eyes with his free hand.

-o-

"What would you like to ask me?" Koenig seemed perplexed by the idea of one of the agents having a question for him.

"You do this anytime someone is led to your base, correct? To make sure that they're SHIELD, that you can trust them?"

"Yes."

"Who makes sure we can trust you?"

Her words hang in the air between them for a moment and she's worried that she's offended him as she wipes the tear tracks from her face. Koenig breaks into a genuine smile though. He's never had anybody ask him before, whether he can be trusted. To be fair, there haven't been very many visitors to the base though.

"Would you like to switch seats?"

-o-

"What is taking them so long?" Skye whined, seated on the floor with her legs crossed in front of her. She leaned against Triplett's shoulder for good measure, one of her hands curled into his jacket.

"I don't know." He checked his watch. "She's been in there twice as long as either of us."

Footsteps echoed along the hallway, so they knew it couldn't be May. She was very purposefully quiet, even when she was wearing heels. Skye sat up straight, detangling herself from Triplett like a teenager about to get caught by her father even though all they were doing was sitting there, waiting for Simmons to emerge from the room in front of them. Triplett straightened as well, not sure if he should be offended that she was so quick to put space between them, or relieved that she wasn't so quick to let Coulson catch him like that. He wasn't sure what the deal was between them, but he was pretty sure Coulson was going to be extra protective of Skye after Ward taking her for a little Hydra joyride. And he probably wasn't going to like his right hand woman cuddling up to the team's newest member right now.

"Everything okay down here?" Coulson asked, his tone clipped, but concerned. "You guys got your lanyards?"

"We have ours." Skye held hers up with two fingers, allowing it to dangle in front of her. Triplett pointed to his own chest where his was hanging from around his neck.

"Simmons?" May asked from behind Coulson, shooting Skye as apologetic of a look as she could without him noticing. She couldn't keep him away forever.

"She's still in there."

"She's been in there a long time," Triplett added. "We're startin' to get worried."

Coulson eyed the two agents seated on the floor, then fixed his gaze on the door in front of him.

"This is ridiculous," May muttered. "Simmons is the most trustworthy of any of us." She marched around Coulson and turned the handle on the door, pushing it open, but the sight in front of her had her stop short.

-o-

"I see why you were having so much difficulty with my readings," Simmons, seated in what was normally Koenig's chair, had her hair wound around a pen and twisted up to the top of her head. Koenig was in The Chair, sensors hooked up to him. "Emotional distress is definitely read within the same parameters as a lie with sensors five and six, as well as 22 through 27. It's problematic, but understandable." When she looked up and found that Koenig was staring at something behind her, Simmons turned and found the other members of the team huddled together in the doorway, their faces a mixture of surprise, amusement, and concern.

"Everything alright in here, Doctor Simmons?" Coulson asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. We were just-" She gestured to Koenig helplessly.

"We were just making sure you could all trust me," he explained to them cheerfully. "I haven't had to go through Orientation in years. We think the system might need a few tweaks."

"Doesn't it?" May murmured so that only Coulson could hear her.

-o-


	16. Prestidigitation

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Prestidigitation.

-o-

_12 years ago._

"Alright folks, follow the lady. Winner gets the cash."

Mary-Sue heard the hushed sounds from the edge of the park and she wandered away from the group, hesitatingly peeking around a bench to watch the game unfolding. The man in the red cap and black coat had a cardboard box overturned on the trash can in front of him, three cards atop it, and he was moving them almost faster than the eye could see. The four people in front of him were smiling and nodding, their gazes locked on the cards, each of them tracking movements. When his hands finally stopped, he raised his eyes to them and waited.

The older woman with the dark blue eyes raised the five dollar bill in her hand and pointed to the card furthest from Mary-Sue's vantage point. The younger man in the group shook his head and held on to his money, unable to pick a card, and the young woman whose hand he was holding giggled uncertainly. The older man in the green t-shirt looked at the cards as though solving some great riddle, tapping his chin thoughtfully, then pointed to the card in the middle of the makeshift table, five dollars clutched in his other hand as well.

"Well, well, looks like we have a winner," the man in the red cap intoned as he flipped the cards over. Mary-Sue saw that the cards on either end were twos, while the one in the middle was the 'lady' the group had been searching for – the queen of hearts. The man in the red cap handed the cash on the table over to Mr. Green T-Shirt, and challenged him to another round. Mary-Sue watched them play again, and again the man in the green t-shirt won, the others losing out on their money, but the little girl hidden behind the bench could see how he did it, so she boldly walked up to the group and asked if she could play too.

"Sorry, little lady, but this is a game for grown ups," the man in the red cap told her with a warm smile. There was something hiding behind his eyes though that she didn't like. He lied, she decided. He lied a lot. And not in the way she did to get out of trouble with the nuns. She was pretty sure he wasn't a bad guy though.

"Please? I don't have any money, I just want to play. Please?" She turned her big brown eyes on him, employing a trick she used on Father Michaels, the youngest of the priests who came to visit the group home, and the one who always carried peppermints in his pockets. He could never say no to any of the kids. All of the nuns, they said no to everything all the time, but Mary-Sue had learned that men were softies. All she had to do was stick out her lower lip, widen her eyes, and look up through her eyelashes.

"Oh, here," the young guy said. "I haven't won yet, you can play with a dollar, how about that?"

The man in the red cap sighed in resignation. "Okay, one dollar for the little lady to play." He gestured to her to come forward, and she edged a little closer, eyes nearly level with his hands while he pointed to the cards. "You've got to find the lady, alright?"

She nodded her head and watched as he quickly flipped all the cards over, picking them up one at a time and moving them from space to space, one over the other. He moved the cards a bit more slowly than he had in previous games, acting like he was giving her a chance to see how they moved. Everyone else probably couldn't see it from up above, but she saw as he picked up two cards in the same hand and dropped the top card, not the bottom card, into sequence. She followed that card while everyone else followed the other. While everyone else smugly laughed, pointing to the card to her far left, no doubt thinking that adults were smarter than some little girl in the park, Mary-Sue shook her head and pointed to the card on the right.

"You sure, little lady?" She nodded her had. He flipped the cards over with a smile, revealing the queen of hearts, right where her finger was pointing. The older woman scowled and walked away while the young couple laughed. The man in the green t-shirt eyed her thoughtfully, but put up his money to play again.

And again.

And again.

Mary-Sue won five times before the young couple decided they had lost enough money to the stranger in the park and bid her good day. The older men looked at one another warily.

"Where's your parents, kid?" The man in the green shirt asked her.

"Don't have any. I'm here with the nuns. They brought us to the park to play." She was fidgeting with the five dollars in her hands, not used to having anything for herself. "Can I play again?"

Some sort of silent communication occurred between the two men, and the one in the green shirt picked up the cards and put them in his back pocket, twirling the box in one hand.

"Look, honey," the man in the red cap said as he knelt down in front of her, "it isn't really a game, it's a way for us to make some quick money."

Mary-Sue smiled brightly at him. "I know. I saw how you did the card in your hand and put the other one down. Can I try?"

The man in the red cap slapped his knee and let out a booming laugh. "Tell you what, kid, if you're here the next time we are, I'll let you try, okay? You just take your five dollars back with you. You earned it. Don't tell the nuns how you got it though, okay?"

Mary-Sue nodded her head, crumbling up the dollar bills and sticking them down into her sock, hiding them under the ball of her foot before scampering back to the playground.

No one had even noticed she was gone.

-o-

_Present day._

Skye sat at one of the tables by the motel pool, idly moving three cards around in front of her, flipping them faster and faster, before pointing to one, then turning them over one by one. She nodded her head in satisfaction as she pointed to the queen of hearts. She repeated the process again, hoping it would clear her mind.

They had been at this motel for three days now, and between shopping trips and debating about just how Hydra had been so well connected while in hiding for so long, she was bored. There was only so much time she could spend on the computer without going cross-eyed. And there was only so much _Doctor Who_ she could watch with Fitz and Simmons. Even Triplett, who apparently had never seen the show before, had sat with the two of them for an eight hour marathon, as delighted as a little kid on Christmas morning as Fitz and Simmons explained different plot points to him.

Skye didn't want to hear about anymore alien races right now though. She'd had enough of that.

What she really wanted was a plan. May and Coulson were busy looking into that though.

"Whatcha doin'?" Triplett asked, sliding into the chair in front of her, pushing a can of soda across the table in her direction.

"Just playin' around with the cards," She replied, pointing to the deck next to her as she moved the three cards around and flipped them over again, nodding her head when she found the queen. She let them go and popped the top of the can, raising the aluminum in a cheesy toast to clink her can with his. "You get tired of the time lord?" She teased before taking a sip of the sugary beverage that hadn't been allowed on the plane while Ward was training her. She had a feeling she and Trip were indulging in way too much sugar the last few days, but if Mr.-My-Body-Is-A-Temple could be on vacation, so could she.

"Nah. Marathon's over. Fitz and Simmons started arguing about time travel, so I thought it was time to get out of there." He took a pull from his own can.

"Probably a wise choice. Fitz really wants to invent a time machine. Simmons doesn't think it's possible. They argue about it every time they watch the show." Skye smiled fondly. "Word of advice? Don't side with Simmons. Fitz won't talk to you for a week."

"Fitz barely talks to me now," Triplett joked.

"Yeah, well…" Skye trailed off, not wanting to be the one to tell him that flirting with Simmons was not the best way to make friends with the engineer.

"I know," Triplett sighed. "Simmons said it just takes him a while to warm up to new people." He tapped the table in front of him, avoiding Skye's gaze. He had a pretty good guess as to why it took Fitz a while to warm up to new people that made friends with Simmons first, but he was going to try really hard to not feed into any gossip while on this team. He liked these people. He wanted to stick around. "So, really, what are we playing?"

"Well, I deal the cards, you follow the lady." She pointed to the queen of hearts with a raised eyebrow. "You find her, you win."

"This is a con, isn't it?"

Skye shrugged and smiled. "You want to try to beat me?"

"Sure, what else do I have to do?"

"I don't know," Skye teased him again as she turned the cards over and began to move them around. "You could go for a run, or a swim…"

"I'm startin' to think you just want me to take my clothes off," Trip shot back, a small smile on his face as he watched her hands moving the cards.

"Please. I'm a lady. I would never suggest that." When Trip started chuckling, Skye couldn't help but laugh as well. "Alright, Mr. Specialist. Where's the real lady?" She tapped her own fingers on the table to indicate that she was done moving the cards around.

Trip didn't hesitate, pointing to the card in the middle.

"Nope. Sorry." Skye flipped the cards over, revealing the queen of hearts to be on her right. "Wanna try again?"

"Yeah."

She smiled when Trip narrowed his eyes and carefully watched her hands. She wasn't worried. He was never going to find the queen. 12 years of practice and she was very, very, good at this. When she halted her movements and he pointed to the card in the middle again, she shook her head and held back a laugh, flipping the cards over to show him that the queen was now on her left.

"Do it again?"

She did. And Triplett still didn't pick the queen.

"One more time?"

Skye threw her head back and laughed when he still picked the wrong card. She couldn't help it. He looked so confused, like, with all of those trained specialist skills, why couldn't he figure out where the queen of hearts was?

"It's a con," Fitz's voice told Triplett as he joined them at the table.

"What?" Trip whipped his head in the other man's direction before turning back to Skye. "You're conning me?"

"I thought you and Simmons were discussing theories about time travel," Skye said cheerfully, not answering Trip's question.

"You're conning me?" Trip repeated in disbelief.

"Eh, she didn't want ta discuss it anymore. Slammed the door ta the bathroom an' said she was showerin'." Fitz shrugged, his face pink, acting as though he couldn't possibly understand why Simmons would have slammed the door after their 'discussion.'

"Okay, guys, come on. She's conning me?" Triplett's head swiveled back and forth between them. "How?"

Fitz rolled his eyes and took the cards from in front of Sky, laying them out on the table in front of himself instead. He pointed to the queen of hearts, then deftly flipped them over, picking them up and shuffling them one over the other as Skye did, then gestured for Triplett to pick a card.

"That one," Trip remarked, pointing to the card on Fitz's left.

"Nope." Skye smiled again and pointed to the one of Fitz's right instead, clapping her hands together when Fitz flipped them over to reveal that she was right.

"How? How do you do that?"

"Watch," Fitz intoned as though he was a professor conducting an experiment. "The queen o' hearts is on the left, yeah?" He picked up the card on the right with one hand, then picked up the queen and the middle card with the other, deftly dropping the card from the middle instead of the queen as Triplett watched the trick play out in slow motion. As Fitz shuffled them, face up to demonstrate, he said, "You switch 'em from tha start and no one can tell unless they've done i' themselves." He raised his eyebrows at the impressed grin on Trip's face. "Have ye' never seen three card monte in a movie before?"

"I don't watch a lot of movies," Trip responded. "Bet you can pull a quarter out of my ear too, can't you?"

"I've never been able to do that," Skye said with a laugh. "I always drop the quarter. I'm better with cards." She flicked the rest of the deck with her thumb.

"Really? It's easy." Fitz smiled and fished a coin out of his pocket, showing it to the two of them in his left hand, them quickly bringing his hands together as though grabbing the quarter with his right, demonstrating after that his hand was empty, and placed his left hand behind Skye's ear to produce the quarter. "Ya should be able to do it too, just palm the quarter like ya would the cards."

The three of them spent the next hour at the table with Skye and Fitz attempting to teach Triplett how to palm a card while shuffling for three card monte.

"Seriously, you've got tons of practice in hand-to-hand combat, how are you this uncoordinated?" Skye laughed as the cards popped out of Trip's palm for the tenth time.

"I'm not uncoordinated," Trip protested. "I just don't have as much practice as you guys do."

"The first time I palmed a card, I was nine," Skye informed him. "My hands were half the size they are now. If a little girl could do it, so could you." She pointed to the table. "Do it again."

"Hey, you can't do the quarter thing!"

Fitz laughed while he watched the two of them argue, performing the trick with the quarter again while they played with the cards. He pulled another coin out of his pocket and practiced doing it with two, then three. He didn't realize they weren't playing with the cards anymore, but were watching him instead.

"That's impossible," Skye burst out when she saw him perform the trick with three quarters again.

"Nah. If it was impossible, we wouldn't have just watched him do it."

Fitz grinned. This Triplett guy wasn't that bad, even if he didn't entirely trust him yet.

Skye threw a card in Triplett's direction. "Do it again," she commanded Fitz.

He chuckled and did as he was told, this time producing the three quarters from behind Triplett's ear instead.

"How can you hold three quarters at the same time?" Skye whined when she tried to do the trick with just one.

"See, it's no fun when someone's telling you how easy it is and you can't do it, is it?" Triplett asked her, trying and failing to palm and shuffle the cards again.

"I've jus' go' good hands, quick fingers," Fitz said with a shrug. "Simmons says-" He broke off when he saw them, slapping the coins on the table.

Skye and Trip had both turned their gazes to him in a flash, identical giant grins on their faces. Skye ran her tongue over her front teeth and tried not to laugh while Trip widened his eyes comically.

"It's from workin' wi' machinery all the time!" He snapped, throwing his hands up in the air at the suggestive looks they were giving him. "Don't say it! I'll no' teach ya anythin' again'," Fitz warned, fingers pointing at each of them in turn.

"Okay, okay," Skye gave in, not teasing him for the moment, "show me again." As soon as he picked up the coins and did some sort of complicated motion that had him moving them dexterously over his knuckles, she scrunched her nose up and pursed her lips together again, trying very hard to not tease him about what his coworker said about his hands. She cleared her throat, took a quarter from him, and tried again.

"How long you been doin' magic tricks," Trip asked conversationally, trying to put Fitz back in a better and less embarrassed mood. He slipped the cards from one hand to another, but didn't try to palm the queen anymore, leaning back in his chair, giving off a nonchalant air.

"I dunnae. Since I was seven, maybe eight? I was very interested in illusions growin' up." Fitz nodded as Skye nearly got the trick. "I wanted to learn how to make things disappear." She sighed in frustration and tried again. "What about ya, Skye? Where'd ya learn three card monte?"

"In the park where the nuns used to take us to play." She halted her attempts with the coin, spinning it on the surface of the table when she felt rather than saw the expression change on Trip's face. He didn't know as much about her history as the rest of the team, and even they didn't know much. "There was this older guy who wore a ratty red cap and a long black coat. He and his friend used to con people out of money with three card monte. He said it was how they made quick cash. I would get bored on the playground with the other kids, and the nuns never really missed me." She spun the quarter a little too hard, and Trip caught it on the other side of the table. "I figured out how he did the card trick, and I asked him if I could play. I won five bucks the first time. The next time I saw them, I got him to teach me how to do the trick." She shrugged. "I learned a couple of other card tricks too. Used to impress the other kids." Skye gave a small laugh. "The nuns were not a fan of card tricks." She took the quarter back from Trip's outstretched hand. "You never learned how to do any tricks?" Skye asked him.

"Nah. Played baseball growing up. My grandma put together a lot of scavenger hunts for us too. No magic though. Always thought it was kind of weird."

Fitz gave an undignified snort. "I've always thought that children of superior intelligence go through a magic phase. Intellectual curiosity and all, wanting to know how things work."

Skye coughed into one hand, hiding a smile, and Triplett raised an eyebrow in her direction, "I feel like I should be insulted by that."

"Sorry," Fitz said, but his lackluster shoulder shrug and smirk made it seem like he wasn't all that apologetic. Since Skye had one of the quarters in hand again, Fitz picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them all. He didn't like to be still, needed something to do with his hands. It wasn't because Triplett still made him a bit nervous.

When Skye, after three more tries with the guys watching her, was finally able to perform the illusion of pulling the quarter from behind Fitz's ear, there was a quiet clapping from behind him. They all turned their attention to find Simmons standing there.

"I was wondering where you all were," she explained, shuffling forward a few steps to stand between Fitz and Triplett's chairs. "I see you're teaching Skye magic tricks," she remarked, offering Fitz a small smile and picking up one of the quarters from the table. The sun was starting to set behind her, giving her a warm glow.

He smiled back at her, and just like that, they were no longer fighting about whatever had set them apart during their time travel discussion.

"You know any magic tricks, Simmons?" Trip wanted to see if Fitz's hypothesis about all the smart kids wanting to learn magic being right.

"Skye, do you have a hairband?"

Triplett and Skye both blanched, thinking that she was ignoring Triplett, but when she pulled her own hairband out of her hair with one hand, and held out her other for Skye's, Fitz's smile grew wider, and they realized she was going to show them a trick.

"First trick I ever learned," Simmons explained, perching on the arm of Fitz's chair, "was the jumping rubber band." She deftly looped one hair band around her pinky and ring finger, then looped the other around her first and middle finger, showing her friends her hand after. She quickly flexed her fingers, bending them in towards herself and then snapping them back into place. The two hair bands had, almost magically, switched spots.

Triplett shook his head while Skye gave a whistle.

"It isn't really all that impressive," Simmons downplayed it. "I only know a few, and I definitely am not as good as Fitz. He knows all kinds of different sleight of hand tricks. You should see some of the things he can do with his hands."

"Do tell," Skye encouraged with a cocky grin. She leaned forward on the table just as Fitz took the hair band from Simmons fingers and shot it in Skye's direction.

"Not teachin' ya anythin' else, remember?" he snapped at her.

Trip's laugh echoed over the pool deck and Simmons glanced around at them confused.

"Have I missed something?"

Fitz shook his head earnestly, his face pink to the tips of his ears. Triplett took pity on him while Skye continued to grin.

"Show me another trick, Simmons. Apparently, all the smart kids learned magic tricks growin' up, but I missed out."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prestidigitation is the term for "sleight of hand" and it was so cleverly suggested by notapepper. I have to admit, the idea for this actually occurred to me because of Skye's shuffling sugar packets in the same way you shuffle cards for three card monte in the pilot episode when she lifts Mike Peterson's ID. Fitz and Simmons strike me as the kinds of kids who would have been fascinated by illusions as well, so, yeah... It's a little lighter than some of the other stories have been as I thought we could all use a break from the darker stuff. Hope you guys enjoyed this another - look at Skye and Trip bonding at the hotel. I apparently want them to be BFFs and really wish we had gotten more scenes at that hotel because I can't seem to stop setting stories by the pool.


	17. Quiet

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Quiet.

-o-

"Get some rest, Simmons. You've had a rough day."

Coulson's voice was low and measured, his face lined with a certain measure of guilt. She nodded, not saying a word. She wasn't entirely sure how she was supposed to rest. Her brain was running at a million kilometers per second. She could feel him and May watching her as she walked the length of the hallway.

She didn't know what she had been expecting when she walked into the room Koenig had assigned to her. He had given her a friendly smile and let her know that Fury had one of his men drop off all of her belongings for her. When she opened the door and flicked on the light, she expected a couple of bags of clothing – she didn't expect it to be accompanied by cases labeled FitzSimmons, or for duffle bags of Fitz's belongings to be nestled right alongside hers. She shuffled uncertainly into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Her hands shook as she picked up one of her bags, set it on the single bed, and unzipped it. To give herself something to do, she began to methodically unpack her belongings, stowing them away in the small closet and dresser. Having learned from the past though, she left a few outfits in one bag, carefully tucking it under her bed in case she had to grab it for a speedy getaway. They seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, fleeing the premises. She hoped she wouldn't have to do that again for a very long time.

How would they move Fitz?

Simmons clenched her hands into fists at the thought and then moved the cases of equipment over to the cramped desk in the corner. She would find out where the lab was as soon as she could and transfer it all there. So she could get to work.

Alone.

The thought of being alone in the lab was enough to make her knees buckle, and she sank to the floor amongst Fitz's bags, placing one of her hands on the bag nearest her, the other over her mouth. The hand over her mouth muffled the sounds of her gasping for air. She struggled against her closing up throat to remain silent, forced herself to take slow breaths through her nose to calm down. She was no stranger to panic attacks, having suffered them as a kid. She was not going to panic now though.

She was going to deal with this.

She was.

Unthinking, trying to draw her mind away from the tightness in her chest, she pulled the zipper down from one of the bags and reached inside blindly, coming up with a worn grey sweater that probably hadn't been washed in weeks. Dry cleaning was a little hard to come by when you were on the run from a terrorist organization that wanted your boss dead. Raising the garment to her nose, Simmons took a deep breath.

_Solder._

_Tea._

_Something a little spicy._

_Chlorine._

_Salt._

It still smelled like Fitz had every time she dropped her head on to his shoulder during briefings at the motel. Without putting too much thought into what she was doing, she slipped the sweater over her head, zipped up the bag, and slid his belongings into the bottom of her closet. She would keep them all safe until he woke up. That was what best friends did.

Best friends, her brain needled at her, did not smell one another's clothing pieces and then wear them to bed though. She ignored her brain and crawled under the scratchy sheets, not bothering to change out of her jeans, pulling his sweater tightly around her, tucking her face against her chest and into the collar, taking slow deep breaths until she could force her body into a restless sleep.

-o-

After spending her days doing research into brain trauma and oxygen deprivation, Jemma found that it was near impossible for her to head to bed and go to sleep when everyone else did. Instead, she would spend hours turning a tiny toy Tardis over and over in her hands, remembering when she had given it to Fitz back at the Academy and wondering who had found it and thought to pack it in with his belongings. It was one of the many things they had thought lost when a team of Hydra foot soldiers had taken over their plane.

She couldn't sleep at all anymore without laying eyes on the replica and pulling one of his sweaters around herself.

It was going to be a problem, she knew that. She didn't much care though when it was two in the morning and she was on the verge of tears and she could pull the fabric of his sweater up over her nose and ears and try to muffle the too quiet sounds of the room, inhaling the scents of Fitz until she could calm her rapidly beating heart and close her eyes.

-o-

Nearly a week went by at the new base, and Simmons became so used to wearing Fitz's sweaters, wrapping herself up in the comforting scent, that she didn't even notice when after dragging herself out of bed and not bothering to dress more presentably, that she wore one to a team briefing with her sweatpants one morning. Not until Skye did a double take as she walked into the room. To Skye's credit, she didn't say anything. Neither did anyone else. The briefing went on without anyone else giving it a second thought, though she probably looked quite a sight in trainers and sweatpants, her hair piled high on top of her head, no makeup to speak off, all tucked up in a sweater that was just a bit too big for her, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

May produced a possible list of Hydra bases provided by Ward, her eyes meeting Jemma's across the table. Simmons didn't really want to think about what May had to do to get him to write that list. According to May though, Ward still wasn't _talking_ about anything. Maybe he couldn't yet. She had done quite a number on his throat during their last confrontation. When she gave him a pen and paper, he just jotted a full page's worth of information down and nodded at her. Simmons bit down on her need to ask if he was receiving adequate medical attention.

She didn't, she had to remind herself, need to worry about his condition. He was not her teammate. He was not her problem. He was a traitor.

-o-

At nearly midnight though, when she knew that almost everyone else had made their way to bed, even Koenig, Simmons sat up on her mattress, sheets pooled around her, her fingers playing with one of the sleeves of the dark grey sweater she was wearing. She slipped on a pair of shoes and walked as softly as she could manage to the lab, retrieving a first aid kit and hanging her lanyard on a hook by the door. If anyone was looking for her, as she suspected May would probably be up for a while monitoring security feeds, they would think she was in the lab, working late or trying to clear her head. She hurried through the hall again, quiet as a mouse.

Simmons wasn't entirely sure she liked the idea of these "access lanyards" doubling as agent GPS. When she had complained about it getting caught in her hair the other day, Skye had revealed Koenig's real reason for giving them out. Simmons, like Skye, frequently hung it up on hooks or doorknobs throughout the day now, leaving it behind. She wasn't doing anything that she wasn't supposed to be doing, she reasoned. Not really. She just didn't need there to be a log of what she was doing. She didn't need someone's electronic eyes on her at all times anymore.

Especially since Coulson was more trusting of his team as a Director than someone like Fury. And he didn't cover the keypad in the elevator or make anyone turn away when he entered in his code to use the elevator.

_Okay,_ Simmons thought to herself, _so maybe I can't pretend that I'm not breaking the rules now. I guess I'll just have to not get caught. I just have to channel May. Or Skye. I could never channel May. Skye though, what would she do?_

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the button to call the elevator into place, cringing at the ding that echoed around her when it reached the main floor. As the doors opened, she stepped into the lift, the stark white of the walls and the bright light contrasting with the darkness of the hall. She set the first aid kit on the floor and very carefully pushed a sequence of numbers in the keypad before pressing the large black button at the bottom that would lead her to the lowest of the sublevels, and the only secure area of the base where prisoners could be temporarily housed.

She didn't know how long he would be there, but she knew he was there for the time being.

The lowest of the sublevels wasn't as long of a trip as she thought it would be. She barely had time to shift her weight nervously from one foot to the other before the ding of the elevator arriving at its destination sounded through the space. She winced at the sound and picked up the first aid kit as the doors opened.

Taking another deep breath in through her noise, she let it out in a stream of air from her mouth. She padded carefully down the hall to the only room that was occupied, the only one where there was a small light coming through the small window. She stopped at the door, her fingers on the handle of the case in hand twisting nervously. She had to wipe her fingers on her palm before keying in Coulson's code on the pad in the wall panel, hoping against hope that the numeric sequence could get her in anywhere in the building.

When the door opened with a soft click, she knew she had been right. She left the door open just a crack after she slipped inside. There would be no way out if she let it shut behind her. She just had to hope that he wasn't going to take the opportunity to attempt an escape.

"Hello, Ward," she said softly as she stepped further into the sparse room.

There was a bed, a toilet, and a sink. Nothing more. He looked up from the bed where he was seated, not sleeping. A vindictive part of her hoped that the guilt at what he'd done was eating away at him, but based on the way he was holding himself, it was more likely that he was having difficulty sleeping through the pain.

Once she reached the point directly under the beam of light, she hesitated, holding the medical kit in front of her as a shield. He didn't look at her with any hostility. If anything, he seemed confused. His eyes widened just a bit even though his jaw was set in a hard line.

"I just-" She paused for a moment, swallowing against her drying throat. "I just wanted to check your injuries over." She blinked, her hands shaking on the handle of the case, trying to force herself to remain calm.

He nodded once, scooting over on the bed, wincing as he did so, and she set the case down next to him with a relieved sigh, the shaking in her muscles beginning to even out. She set about very carefully cleaning the shallow cuts on his arms, hands, and face, standing in front of him, never letting her guard down enough to sit with him. There were no serious injuries there. She knew the bulk of his pain was coming from his ribs, but she was saving an examination of that for last. She spent nearly fifteen minutes doing nothing but cleaning and dousing the small scrapes and scratches in antiseptic before she said anything to him again.

"You're probably wondering why I'm doing this," she murmured. She was almost nose to nose with him as she layered antibiotic cream below his right eye. She felt his breath ghost over her cheek in something like an agreeable sigh. "I don't condone torture. Not for anyone." She swabbed. "I understand why it's used to extract information, but I don't think pain is the way to get someone to tell you the truth." She tossed the swab in her case and grabbed a new one, moving on to another scrape. "I imagine that all of this pain pales in comparison to knowing that Garret, who was, inexplicably, the one person you trusted, is dead now." She was rewarded for her deduction with a sharp inhalation from him. "I'm sorry. He was a horrible human being, but I know you cared for him, so I'm sorry." She pressed a little harder than necessary with her next swab and was just a tiny bit gratified that he winced away from her.

She backed away from him, rummaging in the case for a moment. She found an anti-inflammatory cream and changed her latex gloves for new ones.

"Remove your shirt."

Ward raised his eyebrows in response.

She fought against her natural inclination to roll her eyes. "I need to see your ribs."

He swallowed, visibly uncomfortable, and pulled his tee over his head in one quick movement, his breathing turning to shallow gasps that he struggled to keep under control. Simmons tried her best to keep her expression blank.

Even with the purplish bruising scattered across his skin, Ward was still one of the most muscled men she'd ever seen up close, and now that he was a traitor, the thought flitted through her mind that he could very easily overpower her and leave her in this tiny cell as he made his escape. He could snap her neck with just a flick of his wrist. He had already proven he had no trouble at all with killing fellow agents. But where would he go?

There was nowhere left for him to run. There was no one left who would care whether he lived or died. No one except for the people in this building who were all consumed with anger at him right now.

After prodding his ribs and muscles to make sure that nothing was broken or dislocated from its proper place, she spread the anti-inflammatory cream across his skin. It wasn't going to heal him, but it would allow him to sleep long enough to regain a modicum of his strength for the ringer he was likely to be put through the next day. When she was done, she pulled back, snapping the gloves from her hands and tossing them into the box. She clicked it closed and turned from him, case in hand.

He moved faster than she thought possible in his current state, suddenly blocking her from leaving the room, and at first, she was scared, taking a step back from him, brandishing the case like a weapon, but he held his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

"What?" she asked warily.

He struggled for a moment, but didn't say anything, just widened his eyes before furrowing his brow and shrugging his shoulders, for the first time, looking completely helpless when he let his hands fall to his sides and stepping away. He still hadn't regained full use of his voice, and he didn't know how to ask the questions he wanted. One of his hands balled into a fist before he brought it up, uncurling his fingers and pointing to the sweater she was wearing.

"Look," Simmons said to him, "I'm not here as a friend. After what you did, I don't know if I can be your friend." Her voice broke on the last word and she looked up at the ceiling instead of at him, one of her hands pulling self-consciously on her sleeve, taking comfort in the familiar fabric. "I'm here because Fitz would want to know that you're being looked after. After everything, he would want to know that you're okay. I'm doing this for him." She angrily wiped a tear from her cheek and walked around him to the door.

Ward didn't move from his spot in the middle of the room.

She gripped the door and stood very still for a moment. "I know why you did it. Why you dropped us out of the plane." She refused to turn around. She didn't want to see the expression on his face when she explained to him, "Fitz believed that you cared about us. That you wouldn't let anything happen to us. And I figured it out. You thought that if you got us off the plane, away from everyone else, that was our best chance for survival. It wasn't. He died. _Fitz died, Ward._ He's breathing now, but for a moment, more than a moment, he was gone." She dropped her voice even lower. "You could have prevented that. You could have fought for us." She sucked in a shaky breath. "But Fitz believed in you. So I'm going to do what I can to make sure they don't kill you."

She exited the room without another word to him, clicking it firmly shut behind her and making her way back to the elevator.

-o-

Every night for the next week, Simmons did the same thing. She waited until the base was silent, until she was sure everyone was asleep, and she would hang her lanyard in the lab or the bathroom or the gym, and she would make her way down to the sublevels. Ward never said anything to her, though she was sure he must have recovered his voice by now, just watched her work. Sometimes, she told him about Fitz's progress. Other times, she told him how much stronger Skye was without him. She even made offhand remarks about May training the both of them. She got a wince for that one, and it made her smile.

On the seventh day, someone was waiting for her.

"You aren't supposed to be down here," Triplett greeted her, arms folded where he lounged against the wall as she left Ward's cell.

"Are you going to turn me in, Agent Triplett?" She called the words over her shoulder as she walked right on by. No longer concerned with being caught in the sublevels, she wasn't surprised that someone had found her out in just a week.

"No."

The two of them entered the elevator together and Triplett entered a code to take them back to the main floor, likely not Coulson's code since he moved in front of the keypad to block her view. They rode in silence, but when they stepped out, Triplett loosely grabbed her wrist, gesturing for her to be quiet, and accompanied her back to the lab, where she threw all of the waste from the medical kit into the bin and restocked for the next day.

"You've been down there every night this week?" He asked her, watching her very methodical movements. He had suspected, but he hadn't been sure until tonight.

"Yes."

"I'm not gonna tell Coulson. And I'm not gonna stop you." Triplett waited as she clicked the case shut and returned it to its place in a cabinet. "But from now on, you go down there, you come get me first, okay?"

"I think if he was going to hurt me, he would have done it by now," Simmons remarked with a wry smile. She was touched by Triplett's concern, but given that Ward had ample opportunities to do something to her and hadn't taken them, she was no longer worried. He wasn't going to hurt her. She was sure. He didn't even seem intent on getting away.

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna be held responsible when Fitz wakes up and Ward's holdin' you hostage somewhere, alright? I'm goin' with you." He crossed his arms again, silently daring her to contradict him.

They stared at one another for a full minute before Simmons finally nodded her head.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure on how the Playground will be set up since we only saw a brief glimpse of it in the finale, but I'm kind of going on the idea that it's going to look similar to Providence, and hidden levels seem to be SHIELD's thing. I also can't imagine Ward being held anywhere else in the immediate aftermath of the finale since the team doesn't yet know who they can trust or what facilities they can access, so it seemed plausible for him to be hidden away in the Playground somewhere.


	18. Rain

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Rain.

-o-

Nothing reminds us of an awakening more than rain. – Dejan Stojanovic

-o-

A distant rumbling sounded through the lab, test tubes vibrating, microscope moving just a few centimeters on the surface of the table, and somewhere, the drawer of a file cabinet that hadn't been completely closed clicked shut.

Jemma stood up straight, placing the goggles she had been wearing on the top of her head, glancing around the room in surprise.

"Did you hear that?"

"Probably just Ward trying out one of the new weapons," Fitz remarked offhand, not even looking up from the screwdriver in his hands as he worked with the piece of equipment in front of him at the other end of the table.

"It didn't sound like a weapon, it sounded like-"

Static broke through the plane's speaker system, originating from the cockpit before May's voice came through.

"There's an approaching storm that's too large to fly around. I'm going to have to put us down for the night. Could be a rough landing. Descent starts in two minutes."

Fitz and Simmons spent a total of sixty seconds securing their equipment before Ward appeared in the doorway, checking to make sure they had heard May's announcement.

"Of course we bloody heard it," Fitz snapped at him. "Who do you think repaired the plane's communication system the last time? I did. It works perfectly."

When Ward raised an eyebrow at the engineer, Simmons offered him an apologetic smile. Fitz rolled his eyes at the two of them and pushed his way out of the lab to get to the set of seats reserved for periods of turbulence. He was strapped in by the time Simmons and Ward got there, a scowl in place, arms crossed.

"Sorry," Simmons muttered to Ward out of the corner of his mouth. "He's been a bit – tetchy – lately. Not sure why."

Ward started to smile at her, intent on informing her that she jumped out of the plane just three days ago, that Fitz had been faced with the very real possibility of losing his best friend, and maybe she was handling it a bit better than he was, but he bit down on it and gestured for her to take the seat next to Fitz instead. Ward tucked himself in next to Coulson and spoke into a radio, "We're all strapped in, May. Ready to land."

The pilot had been right about the landing being bumpy. Simmons closed her eyes when she felt the plane hit a pocket of air, her stomach jumping into her throat. She had a familiar feeling of falling through the sky for just a moment, an almost weightless sensation before gravity kicked in, and it was long enough for her to worry, but someone's hand covered her own where it was clutching the safety straps, and she placed her other on top of theirs to squeeze gratefully. She opened her eyes and saw Skye's nails digging into her seat with a bit of trepidation, but Ward and Coulson looked completely at ease, as though they set down jets in the middle of thunderstorms on a regular basis.

Well, knowing the two of them as she did now, maybe they did.

She turned her head to the right and met Fitz's eyes. His skin was practically as white as a new strip of gauze, but he forced himself to smile at her and squeeze her hand again. She nodded, took a breath, and leaned back, waiting for the tell-tale bump and slowing speed to indicate that they were on solid ground again. It didn't take long, but she didn't think she had ever been as grateful for May's skills at the controls before.

-o-

"Everyone have a bag? No one's wearing SHIELD logos, right?" Coulson surveyed his team with a critical eye.

"I don't get it," Skye began, "I thought SHIELD wasn't a secret, just that what you guys do is a secret."

"We're not here on official business," Simmons explained, hoisting her duffle bag over her shoulder. "There's no reason to alarm the local law enforcement with the news that a team of SHIELD agents showed up at their airport in the middle of a thunderstorm, given what they've come to expect following thunder and lightning and SHIELD agents."

"Yeah, so the giant logo on the plane isn't going to give it away?" Skye quipped sarcastically.

"It's on the top of the plane," Fitz brushed off. "They probably won't even notice it."

May came into the cargo bay last, her own bag in hand, but Coulson promptly took it from her hand and passed it on to Ward. "So, May is here as a foreign dignitary on her way to a meeting. Ward's our pilot who had to make an emergency landing due to the storm. The rest of us make up her staff. Nobody answers questions unless I give the okay, alright?"

Everyone nodded as he hit the button to lower the ramp. They were met with rapidly darkening skies and picking up wind. There was a team of airport personnel in the hanger with them, but Coulson quickly discovered who the boss was, and addressed him directly.

They conversed in hushed tones while the rest of the team stood stoically behind him.

"Okay," Coulson said, all business as he turned around, "Larry says the only motel in the area is just ten minutes away, and he's got us transportation all lined up."

Larry tipped his hat to them, practically bowing at May when he did it. Skye fought off a laugh and Simmons had to bite down on her lip to keep her focus. She wondered what story Coulson had fed Larry about who May was and what they all did for her. He had a bit more sparkle in his eye than just a man dealing with a foreign dignitary in the rain. May, however, did not seem amused. A look of disdain remained a fixture on her face while they walked to the front of the small airport to locate their transportation.

May wasn't the only one to look disdainfully at the airport van waiting for them with a large dent in the back bumper though.

-o-

"So," Skye wondered as she picked at a curtain in her motel room, "is this the only motel in town?"

"Only one with a vacancy," Ward answered, taking a swig from a bottle of water before passing out sandwiches to everyone else. Coulson had somehow managed to get the driver to stop for food before dropping them off despite the now torrential downpour.

When Skye scoffed, Coulson added, "It's Florida, near the beach. We were lucky they had empty rooms."

"I've never been to Florida before," Simmons remarked before Skye could begin arguing with anyone. "It's nice." She flipped damp hair over her shoulder and took her sandwich from Ward.

Everyone in the room turned and looked at her as one, except for Fitz, who spoke around a mouthful of bread and meats, "she really likes the rain. English weather."

-o-

Once everyone was turned in for the night in their respective rooms, Fitz discovered that he didn't much care for the sound of the Florida rain pounding into the asphalt of the parking lot outside. It was loud, constant, almost thrumming. It wasn't soothing like the sound of a whirring engine or easy to ignore like the whistle of the wind. Instead, it was like someone had an instrument made of tiny hammers that they were picking and pounding over and over. With a sigh, he rolled on to his side and examined his temporary roommate.

Ward was sound asleep on his back, ramrod straight, his breathing low and even. Fitz didn't know how someone could sleep like that. He didn't move at all. Fitz was not a stationary sleeper. He would curl up on one side, then roll on to the other, tuck himself into the fetal position, even wind up on his stomach hugging a pillow. Maybe it was a reflection of the way his mind worked. His brain was always so restless that his body mimicked it, even in sleep.

Very carefully so as not to wake the specialist, Fitz stood and padded over to the door, having to pass Ward's bed to do so.

"Where ya goin,' Fitz?"

Ward hadn't even opened his eyes. Nothing had moved except for his mouth. Fitz's jaw dropped in surprise, and a little bit in annoyance.

"Can't sleep. Just goin' ta get some air. Go back ta sleep, yeah?"

Ward didn't answer him, so he figured he could take that as an agreement. Fitz reached for the door knob, letting himself out of the chilly motel room (really, why did Ward need the thermostat so cold?) and out onto the sidewalk outside. Steam was rising from the asphalt of the parking lot. The air was so thick with humidity that Fitz felt like he was drinking rather than breathing.

"Not really like English weather, is it?" Jemma's voice reached him before he was even fully out of the room. He almost asked how she knew it was him, but she probably knew in the same way that he knew she would be out here watching the rain. It was just the way it was.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against the space of wall between their two rooms, his side a mere inch or two from hers.

"Nah. English rain is quiet an' cold. This stuff is loud. And hot. Feels like a bloody sauna out here." Fitz pulled the collar of his shirt away from his chest to emphasize his point. He chanced a glance at Simmons out of the corner of his eye. Even in pajamas, she's as put together as ever. The striped pants matched the colors of her tank top. Her hair was perfectly parted, though curling up just so at the ends. Her face was wiped free of all traces of her usual makeup. She looked even younger somehow. The idea flitted through his mind that the heat he was feeling wasn't solely due to Florida's subtropical climate.

She didn't say anything to him and her eyes stared up at the sky. The street lights were dim enough that the clouds could be seen traveling across the sky at high speeds, swirling and pushing against one another like angry children in a playground brawl, the rain their tears falling to earth. It reminded Simmons of something.

"Did you know," she whispered, her eyes still on the masses of grey and purple far above their heads, "that raindrops don't start out that way?" She held a hand out beyond the awning and let a few drops splatter on her hand.

"Yeah. They start off as ice. Colder temperatures up there."

Fitz jutted his chin out as though pointing to the clouds, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her as she let the rain drop into her palm, a small puddle forming on her skin before beads of water started to slip through her fingers. A small smile graced her face.

"Not just ice." She turned her smile on him briefly before she looked back out into the weather, and his heart skipped a beat for just a moment. Not an entirely normally reaction to a friend smiling at you. "Almost entirely flat ovals of ice." She cupped her palm a bit more to hold on to the drops. "When the ice becomes too heavy for the clouds to hold, it begins to fall. Rising temperatures as the ice drops from the clouds make it start to melt. Gravity does the rest. And we get teardrop shaped water hitting the ground." She turned her hand over and let the water fall to illustrate her point, her smile falling along with the water.

"I've been tryin' not ta think about things fallin' from the sky." The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. It's not something they've talked about since she called him a hero after it was Ward who fished her out of the middle of the open sky. In fact, it's not something he's even wanted to think about. He's been steadily pushing the image of Jemma Simmons as she disappeared out of the side of the plane, red rimmed eyes, pale skin, sad smile, somewhere far away from his conscious mind. Because when he took the time to remember the sight, it would make him remember the feeling, and that utter helplessness and despair wasn't something he was anxious to experience ever again.

"Fitz," Jemma reached out her dry hand to him, letting it rest on his arm for just a second before pulling it back. He had never been particularly comfortable with people touching him, and she had long been mindful of that, but sometimes she couldn't help herself. Human touch was supposed to be comforting, wasn't it? "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his arm in disbelief and confusion. "For touching my arm?"

"No." She groaned and bounced slightly on her feet. She leaned back against the wall, a whoosh of breath leaving her as she did. "For-"

"Jumping out of a plane?" He didn't really want this to be a joke, but the corner of his mouth quirked up anyway. In other circumstances, this would probably be a ridiculous conversation to have.

"Yes." Jemma turned to face him, reaching out to him again, her fingers playing with the sleeve of his tee shirt instead of landing on his skin. "And for hitting you with the fire extinguisher." Her face twisted in sorrow. "I really shouldn't have done that bit. I just knew you'd talk me out of it."

"Imagine. Yer best friend talkin' ya out o' jumpin' out a plane. Who woulda thought?" Fitz rolled his eyes, but he turned himself completely to face her as well and frowned.

"I _am_ sorry." Jemma's eyes began to cloud a bit.

Fitz, worried she was on the verge of tears, told her, "it's alright," in a soft voice. "I know why ya did it. I just don' like it." He pushed out a sigh, looking down at her fingers, which were now curled around his shirt sleeve like a small child clinging to their favorite toy. "Are ya – alright?"

He couldn't make himself look her in the eye when he asked the question. She's been bouncing around, her usual bubbly self the last few days. She's acted like everything is fine, like she had no problem jumping out of a plane because she thought she was going to kill them all. Unlike everyone else who thought that she's just adjusted so quickly, accepted that working in the field is dangerous, Fitz saw the look on her face just before the cargo door lowered. She might have accepted what was happening, but she was terrified. A person couldn't just bounce back from that like nothing in their life had changed. He couldn't.

"I-" She tugged on his sleeve just a bit before letting it go, her hand ever so slowly dropping to her side. His eyes followed the movement. "I'm alright."

Her fingers drumming out a rhythm on her thigh betrayed her though. She was the kind of person whose hands just wouldn't stay still when she was agitated. His eyes traveled up her arm to her face. She was now letting her gaze dart around, everywhere but at him. After a few moments of silence and her avoiding his gaze, he didn't think he could take it anymore.

"Simmons."

The name felt flat on his tongue, like it wasn't right. He rarely called her anything but Simmons since he had insisted when they first met that she called him Fitz. It had never really felt right to call her anything else. There were occasions when he used her first name – when she was hysterical thinking that she had made a possibly fatal mistake in an experiment, when her parents called to tell her that her great aunt had passed away, when she had gone through a bad breakup with that lab tech, when he was yelling for her to not fall into the sky – but they were few and far between. He suspected that this might be one of those times.

"Jemma?"

Her hand stilled its movements and she finally looked him in the eye.

"I'll be alright," she whispered, her voice shaking just a bit. Something akin to doubt must have flashed across his face. "Really. I will. It's just-" She raised her hands and gestured to the air around them as though the answers were there. "I don't know." The surprise was evident in her tone. Those words rarely come out of her mouth. It's hard for Simmons, being the kind of person who was extremely thorough in everything she does, to admit that she didn't know something, especially about herself. "I guess it's just strange to think about, what happened. I know it was real, but it still feels like a bad dream I had, like I woke up after a particularly long session in the lab and just can't quite put my finger on what's different about being there now."

Fitz nodded. He supposed he could understand that. Just a few months ago, the idea of losing one another seemed completely ridiculous. But since they had joined this team, they had been faced with men that literally exploded out of their own skin, artifacts made of pure energy that could shoot their plane out of the sky, mercenaries that held them at knifepoint, chemicals that could shift the gravity around them, alien viruses… they were the kinds of things that science and technology students never anticipated having to face in the field. Well, maybe the gravity shifting. But everything else? The kinds of things reserved for nightmares.

"Well, if ya' ever want ta talk…" He hesitated. They talked about chemicals and delivery mechanisms, of television shows and literature, not so much about their feelings.

"I should track down Skye because she's very good at that?" Simmons teased him, trying to bring back some semblance of their usual interactions.

"Yes. Absolutely." He grinned at her. "And then, ya know, if ya need actual stimulatin' conversation, ya can come find me."

Jemma laughed before clapping a hand over her own mouth. "You shouldn't say that," she spoke through her fingers. "You don't give her enough credit. Skye is very intelligent. Just in a very different way."

"I know. Just thought that would get a laugh." He went to shove his hands in his pockets before remembering he didn't have any, his hands awkwardly poised at his hips.

"Thank you, Fitz." She placed one hand on his shoulder, and after a moment's indecision, she leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

'Anytime, Simmons." Fitz hoped she couldn't see his face coloring in the dark. "See ya in the mornin', yeah?"

She nodded, backing away from him and toward her door. Turning from her so she couldn't see the small smile crossing his face that he just couldn't seem to stop, he placed his hand on the door knob, but found he couldn't open it.

"You didn't bring your key, did you?" She asked, holding back a laugh.

"Bloody motels," he groaned. "I forgot… Ward's probably going to try and smother me in my sleep, isn't he?"

"Maybe." She did laugh then at the stricken expression he shot her. "Oh, come on," she said, taking pity on him. She unlocked her room with the card she'd had in her pajama pants pocket. "You can sleep in here. Skye sleeps like the dead, she won't care."

A part of Fitz thought that was a very bad idea, especially when he followed Jemma into the dimly lit room to see Skye sprawled across her own bed, leaving no room for the other girl to slide in beside her. What would Ward think in the morning?

Jemma didn't hesitate to click the door shut softly behind them, kick off her shoes, and climb into bed though, gesturing impatiently for him to join her.

"Fitz," she hissed. "We'll have to get up in a few hours, just get some sleep." An amused smirk tugged at her lips, but she held back from a full on smile at how much he looked like a little boy about to get in trouble. No need to make him more uncomfortable than he already was.

"Right." He mimicked her actions, pulling the covers up tightly around him, sure to leave her plenty of room. Much to his surprise, he found himself falling asleep, the scent of Jemma's lavender shampoo surrounding him, right away.

-o-

He woke, not to Skye's laughter or the clicking of pictures being taken with her camera, nothing as juvenile as he thought, but to the feel of someone watching him. He stirred just slightly, but couldn't move due to the weight of Simmons draped over him. Slowly opening his eyes, he was surprised to find Coulson, May, Ward, and Skye, all fully dressed and highly amused standing over the two of them. He nudged Simmons slightly, causing her to stretch and blink up at him in confusion.

"I could have saved the agency money and booked one less room if I knew this was going to happen," Coulson quipped.

"Sir, it's not-" she started to explain.

"Sun's out," he cut them off with a smile. "You've got ten minutes to get dressed."

-o-


	19. Showdown

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Showdown.

-o-

"Alright, let's pack it up. We need to get out of here before the locals come to check things out." Coulson slid a gun back into his holster as he spoke, nodding to the group of men in SHIELD uniforms to his right. They were shouldering a metallic case between them, heading for their own jet.

Simmons very carefully loaded vials of dirt into a lined case while Fitz manipulated one of his DWARVES back into its place. "All set, sir," they chorused.

Skye pushed her hair out of her eyes, and surveyed the landscape around them. Lots of orange and yellow and brown terrain, nondescript buildings off in the distance, a stereotypical cactus or two. "What's the rush? There's no one around for miles."

Coulson placed his sunglasses back on, pointing to the sign in the distance. "I think this town's seen enough strange to last a lifetime. They don't need us adding possible alien artifacts to the mix. We don't need to give the conspiracy theorists any ammunition."

"So it really was a weather balloon?" Skye wondered aloud while they walked.

"I didn't say that."

_Thank you for visiting Roswell, New Mexico_

-o-

Skye helped Simmons lug one case into the lab while Fitz carried the other. "I'm just saying, we've been working non-stop for weeks. Why can't we just take a break for the day? Just the day?"

Simmons laughed while Skye shoved her end of the case onto a table, the clunk reverberating through the room. "Careful," she admonished.

"Sorry," Skye muttered. "Isn't this just dirt? How am I going to hurt it?"

"If the vials break, the shattered glass, the insulation of the case, even the air in here, could all contaminate the particulate matter and influence the results of the tests I plan on performing to see how the energy being given off by the device might affect our atmosphere."

"Okay, okay, I really am sorry," she relented, hands up, backing away from the table in front of her. She turned to Fitz who was struggling to move his own case into the room, settling it into the corner. "Fitz, don't you think we deserve a break? Even just for the day?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess a break wouldn' hurt anyone." Fitz shrugged, moving to just outside the door where he picked up another bag and brought it inside. "And Coulson is supposed ta be havin' a briefin' with one o' the higher rankin' agents-"

"Exactly. We'll all just be sitting around on the plane while he's on a conference call anyway. And Hatch is only about three hours away by car. If we flew, it would be even faster. Why can't we just-"

"You can go," Coulson told them from where he stood in the doorway behind all of them.

"Yes!" Skye pumped her fists in the air and did a little victory dance. Fitz chuckled and even Coulson smiled at her excitement.

"I'm sorry, where exactly are we going?" Simmons asked in confusion. "What is Hatch? Did I miss something?"

"The chili pepper festival is in Hatch, Simmons! Were you not listening to anything I was saying on the car ride back here?" Skye narrowed her eyes. "You were looking at your phone a lot. Were you and Fitz texting science porn to each other during the ride again?"

"Again?"

Fitz's face turned a light shade of pink. Simmons opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, not sure how to respond.

"What would you classify as science porn?" Coulson asked her curiously, arms crossing over his chest.

"I don't know. I'm not a scientist. Science doesn't turn me on like it does them!"

Fitz and Simmons exchanged an alarmed glance, while Coulson looked on in amusement. The science duo immediately began babbling over one another when Skye opened her mouth to say something else.

"I was looking through some of the preliminary readings-"

"The readin's from tha dwarves are delivered straight ta my tablet-"

"It's a precaution to have it sent to both devices-"

"There was no porn-"

"I would never-"

"On a SHIELD issued electronic device, no less-"

Coulson held up his arms and made a T with his hands. "Okay, I get it. No porn. Just work. And Skye really wants to go to the chili festival in Hatch." He shook his head. "Sometimes it feels like I'm working with children," he muttered to himself. "We'll fly and make a landing near the city, Ward will drive you guys out there for the day, and May and I will meet up with you when we finish, okay?"

Fitz and Simmons both nodded their heads, already busy opening cases and extracting samples to work with.

"The robot's chaperoning?" Skye groaned her displeasure, but as a thought occurred to her she gave Coulson a smile. "How is Ward with spicy food?"

-o-

"We should definitely check out all of the booths with the food, but if you guys get bored, there's carnival games at the other end," Skye shrugged, not really enthused with the idea of playing rigged games and spending all of their money, but she figured if anyone could win at a carnival game on their first try, it was probably Ward and Fitz. Ward had serious super soldier skills and Fitz was too smart for his own good.

They were smack in the middle of the Hatch Chili Festival. It wasn't too crowded yet, but it was still early. There were mostly families with small children being pushed across the desert sands in strollers and older men in cowboy hats and boots with volunteer t-shirts on. Tents and vendors lined the area around them almost as far as the eye could see, a stage set up off in the distance.

"You've been here before," Simmons mused, seeing Skye practically carefree and toddler-like as she skipped across some grass by a tent set up to sell lemonade.

"Just once."

"Why in the hell would ya have come ta this town? It's even smaller than where I'm from." Fitz shook his head while he looked around at the people manning the booths who seemed to know one another from past years of chili festivals.

"Hatch has a population of about 1,600," Simmons mentioned offhand, "The town is known for its produce, especially the Hatch Chili pepper, and the festival draws about 30,000 people annually, so I'm sure it will pick up a bit throughout the day." She realized while she was examining a display of photos illustrating the harvesting process at one of the souvenir booths that her companions were staring at her. "What?"

"Skye said you didn't even know where we were going an hour ago," Ward remarked in awe.

"Our plane is equipped with internet," Simmons pointed out, "I looked it up on the way here... once I knew where we were going." She rolled her eyes. "Skye, you were saying you've been here before?"

"Yeah. I ran away from one of my foster homes when I was thirteen. Hitchhiked here from L.A. I mean, I wasn't really coming here. Just, where ever I could, you know? The couple that picked me up in Tucson was coming for the festival, so I thought that sounded pretty cool." Skye smiled and nodded as an older man in a cowboy hat passed her. "I was only here a couple hours before the police picked me up and took me back to the group home though."

"You hitchhiked across three states when you were only thirteen?" Simmons practically screeched the words at her, hands nervously clenching in front of her. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"Relax, Simmons, I turned out just fine."

"Oh, sure," Fitz jumped in. "Ya act like ya never saw one o' those movies with serial killers tha' pick up women on the side o' the road!"

"Serial killers? Really?" Skye stopped their group from walking any further. "Ward, tell them they're insane. That the odds of that are crazy low."

Ward uncomfortably folded his arms and didn't respond, his eyes narrowed and a little concerned at the direction this conversation was going.

"Low?" Fitz and Simmons gave a simultaneous scoff.

"At any given time in the United States, authorities estimate that there are at least three dozen active serial killers-" Simmons began.

"Yeah, an' those are unnamed ones, ones tha authorities haven't linked ta multiple crimes yet," Fitz finished for her.

"Really, that estimate is probably conservative given that so many serial killers are known for traveling across state lines and so many of those cases don't get connected to one another for years."

"Yeah, it's probably more like double tha'."

"And that is _just_ in this country."

"And tha's not takin' into account Gifteds whose killin's look like accidents either."

"Why do you guys always go to the dark place with your fun facts?" Skye asked them seriously. "This is supposed to be a fun day off in the sunlight, off the plane, no crazy murderers, no aliens, no conspiracies. Now you have me worried that there's a serial killer stalking us." She gave a slight shiver, looking around them cautiously at the families gathering to sample different recipes using the famous Hatch Chili peppers.

"Well, I mean, it's unlikely in a town of this size-" Simmons started up again, but Skye waved her off and dismissed the darkness just as quickly as she had embraced it.

"Oooh, Hatch Chili enchiladas, who wants to try one?"

Ward and Simmons both shook their heads, but Fitz was intrigued, so he and the hacker split a plate of enchiladas that had him swiping a recipe card from the tent and informing them all that they had to buy some of these peppers before they left for the plane.

"Shoot," Skye mumbled as she checked out the calendar of events. "We missed the parade. And we missed them crowning the Hatch Chili Queen."

"What a shame," Ward deadpanned.

"You have something against Chili pepper queens we should know about? You're not gonna try to lock her up for crimes of fashion or anything, are you?" Skye teased him while Fitz and Simmons snickered.

Ward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished he had stayed for the meeting with Coulson and that May had brought them on this field trip. May would be able to deal with this. They were scared of May. Why, exactly, weren't they scared of him? He was a specialist too. He had killed people. It wasn't his fault that his reputation was kept quiet and that May's was spread throughout the agency. They should be more afraid of him. Then he wouldn't feel like he was wrangling toddlers.

Pulling her sunglasses down from her nose, Skye squinted at him in the sunshine. "Are you not having fun, Tin Man? Or is it the Chili peppers in general? Are you afraid of a little heat?"

"Heat? Please, if Fitz could devour those enchiladas that fast, the peppers can't be that spicy." Ward rolled his eyes, then watched in amusement as Fitz balked at him. Ha.

"I happen to enjoy spicy foods, Agent Ward." Simmons put a placating hand on his arm, but it didn't appear to do anything to calm him down.

"Really? I thought everyone from the UK preferred all of that bland fish and chips." Maybe it wasn't the best idea to vent his annoyance at Fitz, but Ward felt like he provided a better outlet than the women. He would pay for his annoyance later with Skye, probably when she complained about him to Coulson or May or when she made a training session particularly hard on him, and Simmons always looked like a wounded puppy when you insulted her. At least with Fitz, he would fight back immediately with his snarky comments, give him something to focus on.

"Ya do realize I'm from Scotland, right?" Fitz glared at the other man, shaking off Simmons hand. "The kinds of things we eat there, we basically have no taste buds. I can eat anything."

"That is just ridiculous," Simmons muttered under her breath, but she cut her expression pointedly to Skye to indicate that the hacker had started this. Skye just laughed in response.

"Yeah, okay," Skye joked before the two of them could really get going, "you're both manly men and all that, what do you guys want to do next?" She showed the schedule to Simmons.

"Oh, look," Simmons pointed to a spot on the program. "We could go watch the mariachi competition! That could be fun." She was met with disbelieving stares. "No?"

"No," the three of them chorused with identical disturbed expressions.

One of the families with a group of small children skirted around them, the little girl at the back of their group giggling at the three adults with panicked looks.

"Says they have a Chili eatin' contest. Where's that?" Fitz asked, pointing to a spot on the program.

"You wanna watch a bunch of grown men sweating out the evidence of the Scoville scale?" Skye asked. She, too, was met by disbelieving stares. "What? I'm not supposed to know who Scoville was? He's the chemist who figured out how to rank the spiciness of peppers." At the mildly impressed expression from Ward and the surprise still evident on Fitz and Simmons faces, Skye added, "I might have dropped out of high school, but I did live in Texas for a while. They take their spiciness seriously there. You can't wait tables at a place that has 20 different kinds of hot sauce and not understand how they rank."

"You worked as a waitress?" Simmons asked her curiously.

"It was a very short job."

-o-

"We've got another hour before the pepper eating contest starts, but you are both signed up, under your approved aliases, of course, just in case you end up in the local paper." Skye handed them both lanyards with "Hatch Chili Festival 2013" emblazoned on one side, short list of contest rules on the back. "I don't know how you guys are even going to be able to do it since we just ate out way across the festival tents."

Fitz finished his cup of chili while Ward downed his third glass of lemonade. The specialist wasn't going to admit it, but the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead wasn't just from the sunshine.

"I cannot believe you two are doing this." Simmons hands twisted worriedly in front of her.

"Yeah, they're probably going to give themselves ulcers," Skye agreed while the guys put their lanyards on.

"Actually, some doctors think consuming peppers regularly can help prevent stomach ulcers," Simmons said, hands still twisting over one another. "Compounds present in peppers will actually kill bacteria in the stomach that can cause an ulcer. Of course, they also stimulate the production of acids in the stomach, which can cause more severe cases of heartburn…"

"Thank you, Doctor Simmons," Skye teased.

Simmons trailed off, her eyes roaming the crowd that was gathering around them. Her eyes rested on a little girl at one of the carnival booths. She had a water gun in her hand, her focus on the target in front of her, but the guy at the booth refused to let her play the game until she had someone else to compete against.

Ward and Fitz followed her gaze.

"Oh, look, you could win a stuffed monkey," Fitz grinned.

"Yeah, you should play," Ward encouraged him, only wanting to see the six-year-old girl beat Fitz just a little bit.

"Step right up, only need two to play," the teenager working the booth informed the visitors walking through. "Just one more player. Three dollars to play and you and the young lady can play for a prize!"

Fitz handed over some cash and took a seat next to the little girl. She smiled at him, grabbed her mounted water gun and pointed it at the target, finger already on the trigger, though the worker hadn't released the water just yet. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her seat. Fitz appeared slightly alarmed at her enthusiasm, but put his hands on his own gun to take aim.

"Okay, guys, aim the water at the center of the target. First one to make their Chili plant grow to full bloom will win the prize."

"You know these games are all rigged," Skye whispered to Ward. "You actually have to hit the target just to the left to get the water to go fast enough. And he's probably just going to give him one of those tiny bracelets or something. Fitz could probably make one of those for less than three dollars."

"What makes you think Fitz is going to win?" He whispered back.

"You do realize that all of those weapons you use in the field, Fitz is the one who calibrates them and makes sure their aim is correct, don't you?" Simmons eyed him with a smile. "You know he's been working with SHIELD's weapons since we joined the Academy? His aim is probably better than yours."

Ward didn't respond, but he did appear to clench his jaw. The girls weren't sure if it was in denial or embarrassment.

"And… ready, set, go!" The booth's attendant shouted into his microphone. A loud ding indicated that the water lock had been released.

It was a tense fifteen second race of the water line to the top of the pole, where the silhouette of a Chili pepper formed on the rapidly inflating balloons. When Fitz's balloon popped first, he smiled apologetically at the little girl. She pouted, but he stuck his hand out to offer her a handshake and she rewarded him with a wide smile and pink cheeks.

"And here's your prize! Congratulations!" The attendant pulled a tiny key chain down from the wall and handed it to Fitz. The engineer looked at it skeptically.

"How many times do I have ta win ta get a monkey?" he asked, winking at the little girl next to him. She giggled.

"Three."

"Wanna go again?" Fitz asked her. She nodded with glee and he forked over another six dollars so they could both play.

After playing two more rounds with his new friend while the others watched him, Fitz was rewarded with a plush monkey holding a banana. Ward couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up as Fitz posed for a picture with it, then handed it a little reluctantly to his competitor.

"Ya take good care o' him, yeah?"

She nodded and scampered off to join her parents, who had been chatting with a group of people just a few feet away. When she showed off the monkey to them, chattering away and pointing at Fitz, they waved to him and mouthed their thanks. He waved it off with a small smile and then rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Congrats, Fitz. You beat a six-year-old," Ward teased with a clap to his shoulder.

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding."

"Hey, at least he beat her at one of the winnable games," Skye cut in. "You know that one where you throw the baseball at the old milk bottles? No one wins that. It's impossible." She started walking toward it so they could watch a couple of guys play, both of them only hitting and moving one bottle a piece.

"They don't have enough force behind their throw," Ward said.

"It's not about force. They need to aim lower," Fitz countered.

"It's simple physics, really," Simmons chimed in. "You can't knock those over from the top down. You have to destabilize the base."

"Alright," Skye challenged, "let's see you guys do it, then." She gestured to the booth, where each of the guys that had played were rewarded with nothing more than a hand clap and a chorus of 'good try' from the surrounding crowd.

"I just spent fifteen dollars to give away a monkey," Fitz protested. "Not that I mind giving away the monkey," he rushed to add. "Well, maybe a little bit. It _was_ a monkey." He and Simmons shared a smile.

"I'll do it," Simmons said with a shrug.

"Um, no offense, but I've seen your aim," Skye told her, pulling her hair back into a ponytail to combat the rising afternoon temperature. "You tried to toss me a set of keys the other day and they landed a foot away from me."

"It was not an entire foot," she protested, "but, point taken," Simmons agreed. She handed Fitz some money. "Show her the physics," she instructed him with a sigh. At this rate, they would be broke from their one day off work.

The attendant, clad in a backwards cap and a baseball uniform that had seen better days, did a double take when Fitz slapped his money down on the surface of the table. The guy had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, likely someone who played baseball when he wasn't working carnival booths, adding to the effect. Fitz wasn't exactly weak, but he was slight compared to all the other athletic types who had been trying to knock the bottles over. Ward added his own money to the pile with a sigh.

"Alright folks, you get two tries," the attendant told them, running a hand through his close cropped hair before picking up a basket of baseballs and fishing out two for each of them.

"After you," Fitz smiled good naturedly at Ward though something lurked just behind it, gesturing to the milk bottles.

"I feel like bringing them to a place full of competitive games was a mistake," Simmons said softly to Skye. They stood just off to the side.

"Yeah… didn't really occur to me until they both wanted to sign up for the pepper eating contest. Any chance we're going to be able to talk them out of that?"

"I doubt it." Simmons played with the band of her watch while they spoke.

Ward pulled his arm back as though he had actually played baseball growing up, turning his hips just slightly, before he let the ball fly. He hit the tower squarely in the middle, but left two of the bottles at the bottom of the pyramid standing.

"Nice job, Ward," Skye called to him.

"Good effort," Simmons chimed in with a polite clap.

Ward shook his head and laughed a little bit as he wound up again.

"Maybe a little more heat this time," Skye called again, breaking his concentration a bit.

Simmons giggled next to her. "Maybe we shouldn't encourage them."

"If they're gonna do this anyway, we might as well enjoy it."

Ward repeated his earlier movement, aiming a tad lower, and the bottles flew off their shelf with a crack when the ball made contact. A smattering of applause met the action.

Fitz nodded his approval as he rolled one of the baseballs between his hands. He didn't try to mimic Ward's stance, having never been particularly athletic, but he did shut one eye, tongue between his teeth as he pulled his own arm back, aiming even lower than Ward had. When he let the ball go, it didn't fly through the air with quite as much force as Ward's had, but it collided with the lower level of bottles in just the perfect spot, knocking them away, the crack echoing through the air, pushing the middle bottles of the pyramid clean off the shelf, causing a cascade of bottles as they all tumbled down.

"Do I have to throw the second one?" Fitz asked the attendant with a grin.

Skye and Simmons let out a chorus of cheers and claps while Ward nodded his head and pursed his lips in slight annoyance. Of course the scientist would beat him at this. Of course. Stupid physics. He needed to find a game that actually required skill. Ward turned around, ignoring the carnival worker's offer of a consolation prize in the form of a small plastic figurine. Fitz had received a plush replica of a Hatch chili pepper. Ward's eyes roamed passed the group behind them and landed on something that he was fairly certain Fitz wouldn't be able to beat him at – the ring toss.

"Can physics help you win that too?" He asked Fitz conversationally, nodding his head to the collection of fishbowls.

"As long as ya gi' the trajectory right, yeah, I think so." Fitz shrugged, a grin on his face, as he tossed the plush pepper from one hand to the other.

"Let's find out, huh, Fitzy?"

"Don't call me that."

Simmons and Skye exchanged a look as Fitz handed his stuffed pepper to Simmons and followed Ward to the next booth.

"Go Team Coulson," Skye muttered sarcastically.

"Yay," Jemma chimed in half-heartedly, waving the pepper in Skye's direction. Skye rolled her eyes in response.

When Fitz tossed his first ring, it bounced along the fishbowls before falling off the side. Simmons cringed at the vibrations it must have been creating, scaring the poor goldfish that were swimming around in their bowls. With a flick of his wrist, Ward's ring settled perfectly into place around a bowl. Fitz huffed and tried again, and again, the ring bounced along the bowls before falling down in the side. He scowled when, with another flick of the wrist, Ward's ring landed perfectly in place around a fish bowl. The experience was repeated for their third and final rings, and Fitz crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance.

"So, I guess physics doesn't win this time then," Ward teased him as the carnival worker handed him a plastic bag full of water, a goldfish swimming around in the middle.

"Yes, congratulations Mr. Save-the-Day, you've rescued the very important goldfish from the world's most dangerous carnival booth," Fitz said flatly, trying to keep the remark under his breath.

"Guys," Skye whined, "this is supposed to be fun."

"Oh, I'm having fun," Ward told her.

"I've never had more fun," Fitz agreed, eyes narrowed. "Let's go have some fun over there," he pointed to another carnival booth where teenage boys were lined up, plastic pellet guns in hand, as they attempted to shoot out red stars out from the targets at the back of the booth.

Ward shoved the bag with the fish into Skye's hands as he and Fitz marched determinedly over to the booth.

"What the bloody hell are we supposed to do with a goldfish?" Simmons asked her.

"Well, if Fury would have let us install a fish tank we would have had somewhere to put it," Skye chimed in, lifting the bag to eye level and making a face at the fish.

-o-

"It's cheating," Ward snapped.

"Not cheatin'," Fitz countered smoothly, another stuffed chili pepper in his hand.

"You shot a circle around the target!"

"And did I not gi' the star off o' paper, then?"

"You didn't shoot the star!"

"Everyone knows they don' give ya enough pellets ta shoot tha star."

Skye and Simmons groaned.

-o-

"Who's cheatin' now, huh?"

"I didn't cheat."

"You didn' even use tha rungs o' the ladder!"

"When you use the rungs, it destabilizes your climb and the ladder twists everywhere. It's just smart to use the sides."

"Not all of us have yer super strength, now do we?"

The two men stood huffing at one another, arms crossed.

Skye glanced over at Simmons. "I'm going to get a beer, you want one?"

"God, yes."

-o-

"Oh, sure, toss a sledgehammer aroun' an' everyone thinks yer a bloody hero."

-o-

"I hit those balloons dead center. They should have popped."

"Blunt tips, Ward. Under inflated balloons. Yer not very observan', are ya?"

-o-

"Did you ever play any sports _at all_ growing up? I thought with your physics you'd get the perfect arc?"

"Tha hoop was smaller than tha bloody ball. How can anyone make a basket wi' tha'?"

"I did."

"Shut up."

-o-

Skye sipped from her beer and made a face. "Warm beer is the worst," she murmured to Simmons.

Simmons snorted into her own up. "Yes, if you call this watered down mess beer. What is this?" She pulled it away from her face and turned the cup around in her hands, searching for a logo.

"I don't know. It's from some microbrewery at the other end of the state." Skye shrugged then chugged the rest of her beer so she wouldn't have to worry about it during the rest of the competition they were about to watch. Volunteers had been speaking with the contestants at the back of the stage where the audience couldn't see anything. She and Simmons had grabbed a picnic table to watch the guys chow down on peppers, but they hadn't even come out yet.

"Coulson and May should be done with their briefing soon, right?" Simmons asked, taking smaller sips of her drink, though trying not to make a face after each one.

"Yeah, I hope they get here soon. I can't wait for Ward and Fitz to find out their boss is watching them compete to see who can handle the most heat." Skye folded her hands over the table and leaned forward as a man in a suit led about two dozen people onto the stage. "Oooh, Coulson's going to miss it."

"Look, there's Fitz and Ward." Simmons pointed to the back corner of the stage where the two of them stood with their arms crossed.

"For two people who really wanted to do this, they don't look very excited," Skye mused.

Simmons didn't respond, but her eyes scanned the rest of the people on the stage who were all lined up behind a series of tables. A group of volunteers brought out trays and trays of peppers and began to line the table as the moderator for the contest began to outline the rules.

"We are really going to put our contestants through their paces today, folks! We'll be timing them to see who can eat the most of our famous Hatch peppers in just five minutes. We'll see who can handle a little fire!" He theatrically swept his arm behind him. "Let's have a round of applause for all of our participants!"

Applause echoed across the grounds while Skye questioned, "What do they get if they win, again?"

"Respect," Simmons joked. "Skye, isn't that-"

"Oh, good. I haven't missed anything yet," Coulson remarked as he joined the young women at the table, climbing over the bench seat to take a spot next to Skye.

"Hey, AC! You got my message! I was starting to think you and May had left us here… Wait, we don't have an assignment or anything, do we? Where's May?" Skye narrowed her eyes at him. He was still in his suit and sunglasses, looking completely out of place in the sea of denim cut offs and t-shirts that surrounded them.

"No, there's no mission."

"Isn't that her, there?" Simmons pointed to the opposite end of the stage from Ward and Fitz where a petite Asian woman stood in a black tank top and jeans, her hair pulled back out of her eyes.

"Yeah… when I got your message, May thought she should show them how it's done." Coulson shrugged his shoulders and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

Simmons smiled as she looked at her teammates. Sitting next to one another with their sunglasses perched on their noses, hands braced on the table, bodies leaned forward to watch the show expectantly, identical half smiles on their faces, she could almost believe that they were really family. Simmons turned back around in her seat, leaned her back against the table, tuned back in to what the announcer was saying, and prepared to cheer for her coworkers.

"Now," the announcer reminded the gathering crowd, "we've got quite a few newcomers this year, so we want to let them know that the Hatch Green Chili pepper is no slouch. It ranks at 6,000 on the Scoville scale. That's about 5,000 units higher than the average jalapeno pepper, but more than one million units lower than the New Mexico Scorpion pepper."

"I thought they weren't using the Scoville scale anymore," Coulson remarked in surprise.

"Scientific circles don't use it anymore," Simmons said over her shoulder. "There are electronic reading systems that rank heat levels now."

"I always preferred Scoville."

"It's old fashioned," Skye cut in with a smile.

"And human," Coulson agreed with an answering smile.

"Peppers are kind of amazing, you know?" Simmons mumbled. "There are so many different varieties of them all over the world. You can find peppers in almost any environment. We eat them, but some cultures would actually coat their arrows with the juices of the hottest peppers in their region to create a burn when their enemies were injured. I imagine it would be torturous." She paused, allowing the thought to sink in to her companions. "A few years ago the Indian military began developing grenades using the bhut jolokia peppers as a method to combat terrorism. That pepper ranks above one million on the Scoville scale. I can't even imagine using something like that, what the effects would be."

"Again, Simmons, you really go to the dark place with your fun facts," Skye told her.

"Sorry," Simmons twisted her lips in a grimace, but Coulson and Skye both laughed.

"Alright, contestants," the announcer's voice went up a notch over his microphone. "You each have a bowl in front of you, full to the brim of our very own Hatch Green Chili peppers. At the sound of my whistle, we will begin. Eat as many peppers as you can before the next whistle blows. But remember, pace yourself! There's no milk or bread to cut the heat here! Leave your stems in front of you to give us an accurate count. Here we go!" He waved his arm theatrically again, gave a laugh, then raised the bright green whistle he was wearing around his neck, and blew.

Skye giggled as she watched the contestants begin to devour the peppers in front of them. She was sure some of the people doing this had some sort of strange strategy in place, but she had no idea what it was. Most of them just seemed to be eating the peppers with abandon. Fitz was eating them like he ate most things, in large bites, filling his mouth, chewing quickly, then swallowing it all down before repeating the process. Ward, on the other hand was doing the opposite, nibbling in quick spurts like a rabbit, swallowing the tiny pieces quickly and efficiently. Neither of them seemed to be doing a particularly good job at eating their peppers faster than anyone else though.

Less than a minute in and a man with freckles dusting his face, hair sticking up at odd angles, backed away from the table, hands in the air. He leaned over and heaved.

"Ugh. Hope Fitz isn't paying attention to that. He's very sensitive to the bodily fluids of others." Simmons shook her head in sympathy for the man who couldn't hold his peppers.

"Nah, he's good." Skye watched him pick up another pepper and put it away. His eyes were firmly focused on the bowl in front of him.

In the next minute, half of the people on the stage slowed down dramatically, sweat dripping from their foreheads, cheeks pink. One woman in a bright red dress who had only eaten four peppers was very slowly and methodically chewing her fifth one, likely trying to pace herself so the heat wouldn't overwhelm her. Even from their seats far back from the stage they could tell that her hair was plastered to her forehead in sweat though. She wasn't going to last long.

One by one, people slowly stopped eating their peppers, admitting defeat, while a pair of volunteers counted pepper stems and made tallies on clipboards.

"Just 90 seconds left, ladies and gentlemen!"

A few people in the crowd began clapping their hands to support the contestants left with peppers in their hands.

"Are you two going to tell me why you have an entire pile of plush chili peppers on the table?"

"Oh," Skye tried to make her tone casual as spoke, "I was using them to keep the goldfish out of the sun."

"Goldfish?"

Simmons kept her back ramrod straight and faced the stage, trying very hard not to laugh as she listened to Coulson and Skye talking behind her. She watched Fitz, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk storing food, and bit down on the inside of her own cheek. She really hoped his stomach was as strong as he thought. By her count, she was pretty sure that he had consumed at least 10 of those things.

"Yeah, Ward won a goldfish."

"Why did you let Ward play a game that involved a prize with live animals?"

"Let him? You said the robot was in charge!"

Simmons really did start to laugh at that.

"Would you two pay attention," she called over her shoulder. "It's almost over!"

Up on the stage, Ward only had two peppers left in his bowl. He paused before he picked one up, rolling it between his fingers, and taking a breath. His tongue felt like that time he had been tortured by that group of pirates looking for Chitauri technology off the coast of Spain. His throat was on fire. His stomach was rolling. He knew that as calm as he was able to stay under pressure, his face had to be bright red, sweat was even pooling at the small of his back. He chanced a look to his right to see how Fitz was faring.

The engineer, cheeks pink and puffed out, eyes bright, looked just fine, chomping away on a pepper. Just beyond him was an older man who placed one hand on his stomach, shaking his head, then took a step back from the table. Fitz grinned around the pieces of pepper in his mouth and swallowed.

"30 seconds to go!"

"They're in the final stretch," Simmons said, clapping her hands together. "This is actually much more exciting than I thought it would be."

In those last few seconds though, several things happened at once. One of the few remaining contestants rushed around the table to throw up off the side of the stage, causing the woman who had been very slowly eating her last few peppers to trip, losing her pile of pepper stems all over the floor. Ward coughed as she ran into him, dropping the pepper he had been working on and shaking his head as he moved away from her. Fitz paused, one pepper at his lips, as the sounds of the man getting sick just off stage reached him. He licked his lips nervously and took another bite. At the opposite end of the stage May announced, loud enough for the first few rows to hear her, "I finished my bowl. Are there any more?"

-o-

"What do you want us to do with all these plush Hatch chilies?" Skye shook one of them, shoving it in Fitz's face in the backseat of the car.

He thrust his hand out, pushing it away from himself. "I don' care. I never wan' ta see one o' those things again." He groaned and laid his head back on the seat. On his other side, Ward was in the same position.

"I think I need a glass of water," Ward mumbled.

Simmons twisted around in her seat up front with Coulson. "Water will just make it worse. I have something on the plane that will help."

"I don't think you should give it to them," Skye joked. "Maybe then, they'll learn a valuable lesson."

"What? Not to eat spicy foods?" Ward groaned.

"Na' ta compete agains' crazy people?" Fitz added.

"To drop out of any contest that means you go up against Melinda May," Coulson told them from the front seat.

"She wasn' in tha contest when we signed up! Sir," Fitz protested feebly, but everyone ignored him. "Still beat ya, though," he informed Ward with a poke to the side. Ward made minimal effort to push Fitz away, intent on moving as little as possible until he had to get out of the car.

Skye flicked the stem portion of the chili pepper in her lap, then squeezed the soft material. "AC? If we're not going to keep these prizes, we could send them to St. Agnes. The kids there don't have too many toys."

"I think that is a wonderful idea, Skye," Jemma answered before Coulson could say anything. "Sir, we can drop them off next time we're in town."

"What about my goldfish?"

"I already took care of that," Coulson said sternly. "Found it a good home with a ten-year-old whose brothers beat him at every game they played."

"Uh… thank you, sir?"

"Fury nicked the fish tank. We couldn't keep it."

They road in silence for a few minutes until the plane came into view, parked securely behind an embankment of rock in a way that no one but Melinda May could have managed.

"Hey, AC? Where _is_ May?"

-o-

"A reporter from the local paper is just going to ask you a few questions about the contest Miss – uh, I don't believe I have a last name down for you?"

"You can call me Mel. And I think I've answered all the questions I have time for. Thank you for the blue ribbon. It's cute."

May stood up from the seat where she had been photographed with the blue ribbon in hand and a bowl of Hatch Green Chili Peppers in front of her. She had just wanted to prove a point. Now, she was done. But these small town folks wouldn't leave her alone.

"Please, Mel," a voice asked her just as she rounded the corner around the back of the stage headed for an exit to the parking lot. "At least tell us how you managed to eat all 15 of the peppers in your bowl?"

"I can handle a little heat."

She didn't wait to hear any more questions, just kept right on walking, her boots leaving small footprints in the sand behind her. When a man in a volunteer tee grabbed her wrist and attempted to get her to stop so he could speak with her, May's patience was gone. She flipped him end over end, stepping over his torso and continuing on the path to her car while gasps echoed behind her.

"I hate undercover."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet. Whew. I went a little more dialogue heavy this time around too. You guys can all thank notapepper for the prompt, which was originally not even going to be part of Conversation Hearts. Let me know what you guys thought of this monster! 
> 
> This one took a little research on peppers and carnival games, if you will believe it. All the ways that Fitz and Ward win are the ways you can actually win "rigged" games at fairs and carnivals. Not that I want to cheat the carnival workers out of their hard earned money. Carnival games are meant to be fun, people! All of the facts that Simmons spouts off (including the ones about serial killers and weaponized peppers) are true. Yeah, sorry. I went to the dark place for those.
> 
> A few things: Yes, Hatch is a real town in New Mexico that does have its own chili pepper festival. It is about three hours west of Roswell, which I couldn't resist throwing in there. No, I have never been, so I have no idea if I accurately depicted their festival. And yes, they do have contests that involve using the famous Hatch pepper in different recipes and a pepper eating contest. The Food Network has even filmed specials at the festival in the past. I mean, I did do some research into it. I believe the festival is held in August if anyone's curious.
> 
> Also, just in case it wasn't obvious, this would be set pretty early on in season one. I would probably put it before Skye gets the tech-no bracelet put on her.


	20. Taupe

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Taupe.

-o-

"Are you sure we should be doin' this?"

Skye glanced over at her current partner in crime. Triplett looked, for lack of a better word, hot. She hadn't really considered that this project was going to give her so much eye candy to look at while they worked. Not that she was considering jumping Trip or anything like that. She just appreciated, as Simmons would say, what a fine, muscular, and symmetrical specimen he was. Especially since she normally saw him outfitted in SHIELD wear preparing for battle, not in a tight t-shirt and a pair of jeans, paint splatters all over his arms. He looked so very domestic. It was cute. She was not going to be complaining about the sheen of sweat on his forehead or the way the muscles in his shoulders clenched every time he ran the paint roller across the ceiling either.

"Yeah. I checked with Koenig. He didn't care." Skye waved off Triplett's concern airily and went back to concentrating on replacing the images in the 'window' with new versions of night and day.

"Koenig isn't, technically, in charge though."

"You think Coulson's going to tell us no?"

A laugh rumbled up from the depths of Trip's diaphragm. "I'm not asking him," he joked. "But he won't tell _you_ no."

"What?" Skye feigned confusion as worked the screws loose from the frame.

"Don't act like you don't know you're his favorite." He jumped down from the stepladder he was standing on, narrowly missing the pan of paint on the floor next to him, and maneuvered the stepladder over a few feet to work on another section of the ceiling.

"God, you make it sound like he's our dad."

Very carefully, trying to ignore the sounds of Triplett humming behind her, Skye slipped the old night time graphic of the moon over a sandy beach from the frame. She was leaving no picture untouched in this place. No ocean scenes of any kind, anywhere. Instead, she slid in a view with brick buildings close together, lights sparkling from streetlights below dark green trees. There, off in the distance, against the dark blue of the sky was the outline of a castle, the spire of a church, a clock tower. She didn't know the names of any of it. But she knew it was the perfect image. She picked up a screwdriver from the floor in front of her, screwing it securely into its frame, then hit the button on the bottom of the framing. The night sky disappeared and a white square replaced it. She went to work again, slipping in another image of the same cityscape, this time with clear sunny skies and snow covered rooftops, a slightly different angle meaning only an edge of the castle peeked into view. Perfect. She screwed that piece of framing into place, then hit the button on the bottom once, twice, three times, making sure the pieces slid in and out of place like they were supposed to. She hadn't even had to disconnect the electrical unit behind it this time.

"What do you think?" She called to Triplett, pushing the button again, allowing the images to move in and out of place.

"Nice!" Trip nodded his head and gestured with the paint roller. "And you didn't even electrocute anybody this time."

"That was an accident! It's not like I did a lot of home repairs in my van!" Skye shoved some hair out of her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry about that? I'm sorry!"

"Uh huh." He turned back to his work with the paint to hide his grin from her. For someone as easy going as Skye, it had been surprisingly easy to get her all riled up when she had roped him into her project. It was almost as fun as bugging Fitz with all his references to classic literature. "How much time do we have left before the others get back?"

She pulled her phone from her back pocket. "About an hour."

"You better start helpin' me paint then, or this room's still gonna be wet when they get here."

"Fine, fine."

Skye had been steadfastly avoiding using a paint brush or a roller or anything that paint could go on. She had systematically changed every single night-day picture she could, beginning with the common areas and working her way into the bunks. They had images of downtown Hong Kong, the Eiffel Tower, a mountain range she didn't know the name of, New York City (complete with Stark Tower at the center), London, a desert she was almost positive was in the middle of Africa, and a cliff face from Australia. She patted herself on the back for managing to find a diverse group of images in Koenig's storage that she could use. The only room she hadn't changed anything in was Koenig's. She figured nobody else was going in there anyway.

The first image might have proven problematic since she and Triplett weren't entirely sure how the mechanisms in the frames worked, and he might have got a slight jolt when she tried to take apart the wrong section, but she'd done better after that. But… Skye had never used a paintbrush or a roller in her life. She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing.

She dragged her feet, putting all the tools they wouldn't need anymore back in their box and dragging it outside the door to go back to the lab. She'd let Triplett do the heavy lifting later. Picking up one of the cans of paint, Skye dipped some into a tray, wrinkling her nose as the smell reached her. She really wished this place had windows. She set the can back down with a clunk, exchanging it for a roller, eying it suspiciously while Trip's back was to her, then shrugging, dragging it through some of the paint and running it over the wall. The shiny grey of the walls slowly began to disappear as streaks of the warm shade of white, just a hint of brown thrown in there, slid on. Of course, it also slid down the roller and coated her hand, her wrist, her arm. She flipped the roller over and let gravity send the paint in the other direction.

"Damn it."

She heard the chuckling from behind her and rolled her eyes before she turned, grabbing a towel and wiping off her arm. She dropped the roller back into the tray, the sound of Trip's boots hitting the plastic sheeting on the floor echoing through the room.

"Never done home repairs before, right? So, you've never painted before either."

Skye glared at him in response.

"Good thing I stayed here with you then. What were you gonna do all on your own?" He grinned at her, but he didn't tease her further. "It's like this," he told her, squatting on the floor at her paint tray and picking up the roller. "See how there's so much paint on the spongy part it kind of globs up?"

Skye nodded, watching him, giving up trying to get all the paint off of her arm and tossing the towel on the floor.

"Okay, so…" Trip dragged out the word, rolling the sponge over the raised ridges of the tray. "You have to get rid of that extra. Otherwise, you end up with a mess." He nodded at her hand pointedly. He stood in front of her, handing her the roller. "Don't paint in straight lines either, you'll leave streaks on the wall. Pain a bunch of Vs over and over."

"Seriously? Why do you know this stuff? Do you watch those do-it-yourself shows?"

Triplett didn't answer her, just hummed again and went back to his stepladder to finish the last section of the ceiling.

"Oh my god. You do!" Skye almost clapped gleefully, then remembered she had the paint roller in her hand. She rolled it against the wall in a V pattern, just as he told her, covering a large area relatively quickly. She nodded her head in approval. "Which one's your favorite? Do you watch the ones where the neighbors trade houses, or do you like the ones where people are flipping houses for a sale or-"

"Skye!" He laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Just because I've seen a few doesn't mean I know them all by heart." She watched him stretch his arm up and back and cover the remainder of the ceiling with a few long strokes of the roller.

"Is there anything you aren't good at?" She hadn't really meant to ask the question aloud. It just popped out. Once it was out there though, she was genuinely curious.

"There's lots of things I'm not good at."

"Name one," she countered.

Trip hummed while he thought, stepping back on the floor and moving the stepladder out of the way. He dipped the roller in his tray, running excess paint from it, and took up a position at a wall.

"You can't even think of anything. Ugh. You're like, Mr. Perfect. It's kind of gross."

"Nobody's perfect, Skye. We've all got something."

"Yeah, sure." She dipped her own roller and watched the paint stick to it. It almost looked like really thin oatmeal. Maybe they should have splurged and gone with another color. She went back to her wall.

After working for a few minutes in silence, Trip said "Skiing. I don't ski."

"You say that like it's a perfectly normal skill to have. Most people don't ski, Trip." She took a step back and surveyed her handiwork. The wall looked almost professionally done, if she did say so herself.

"Okay," he agreed. He thought again and Skye resisted the urge to roll her eyes while she moved on to the next wall. "Line dancing?"

"Everybody can line dance. You just do what everyone else is doing. There are instructions! It's not like you go out there and do whatever!"

"Never been good at it."

Skye giggled. "When we have time off, we're so going line dancing. All of us. I have to see this now... You think Fitz and Simmons can line dance?"

Triplett smiled into his section of the wall. "Sure."

When the walls were coated in the sandy color, the two of them cleaned up and dragged a large fan in from the hangar attached to the Playground, plugging it into an outlet in the hall and letting it suck the air from the walkway to help dry the walls just a little bit faster.

They sat on the floor in the hall, legs splayed out in front of them, sticky with sweat, sipping on bottles of beer.

"You think he'll like it?" Skye asked Triplett, suddenly quiet and serious, maybe even a little worried.

"You know him better than I do." Trip ran one finger along the rim of his bottle. "I'm sure he'll like that you did this for him though. It's the thought, right?"

" _We_ did it." She clinked their bottles together. "You aren't getting out of the blame if he hates it," she joked, taking another sip.

When the base's security system went on alert, the two of them got rid of the fan and the plastic sheeting as quickly as they could, dragging the belongings that were supposed to be in the room back inside at lightning speed. Skye had never been so thankful for SHIELD training in her life.

Moments later, she was panting when the rest of the team members walked inside, led by Coulson and Koenig. Trip, of course, was leaning up against the wall, cool and collected, like he hadn't just thrown plastic suitcases under a desk and clothes into a closet at breakneck speed. She hated him, just a little bit.

"What happened to you?" Simmons asked them, taking in their disheveled appearances and paint splotches on their arms.

"Oh, right. We probably should have showered after," Skye remarked to Triplett. He raised an eyebrow at her, and damn it if she didn't feel a blush spread over her face. "God, not-"

Coulson cleared his throat.

"We've got a surprise for Fitz."

"Me?" His arm was still in a sling, but his eyes were focused and he was walking around on his own. He looked about a million times better than when he had woken up.

"Come on," Skye reached for his good arm and practically dragged him down the hallway to his assigned bunk. "We thought your room was a little too dark."

"Skye thought your room was too dark," Triplett amended when he saw Coulson's eyes narrow. Coulson's face visibly relaxed and Triplett resisted the urge to say _I told you so_ to her.

The rest of the team followed them, but it wasn't like they could all squeeze into the room with him, so they huddled awkwardly in the door while Skye pulled Fitz through the doorway, Triplett right behind her.

"We put all of your stuff in here," Skye told him, spinning him toward the closet, then the desk. "And we did a couple minor repairs."

"After she tried to electrocute me," Triplett muttered out of the corner of his mouth, making Fitz smile.

"And, you know…"

"You painted his room," Coulson said from the doorway. Triplett saw the older man rub his forehead tiredly and tension coiled through him. May watched him without any expression. Simmons nervously flitted her eyes from their new director to the group in the room. Koenig backed away and began moving down the hall. Skye dropped her hands from Fitz's arm and opened her mouth to say something, but someone else beat her to it.

"Some macaques have fur tha' is exactly this color," Fitz mused, reaching out with his good hand and pointing to the paint on the wall.

It was the most words he had strung together since waking up. Everyone let out a collective breath and Coulson's face softened. He nodded his head to Skye and Triplett before leaving the doorway.

Fitz's eyes roamed the walls until they rested on the frame, currently on its daytime image. "Tha's Edinburgh."

"Yeah, we thought you'd like that." Skye elbowed Triplett in the side. The pictures had been her idea.

"I'm painting my room," May informed Coulson flatly as she followed him down the hall. "But not that color."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thanks has to go out to notapepper who beta'd all of my stuff from here on out.


	21. Underwear

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Underwear.

-o-

"Ugh."

Skye gave a small groan at the sight of herself in the mirror. It was worse than she thought. Every inch of her was probably covered in unidentifiable grime. She was never doing "on the ground" training with May ever again. She didn't care how much free time they were granted. Especially if that meant she was anywhere near a jungle. She gingerly peeled off the layers of tops that May insisted she wore. There went the vest that was supposed to provide padding for her vital organs. She dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. There was a gash in the back where she had caught it on a low lying branch. Coulson had done a double take when they got back, thinking the two of them had actually run into trouble. And there went the black t-shirt that May insisted was standard. Skye wrinkled her nose. SHIELD agents wore an awful lot of black. The moisture wicking tank top that was supposed to make her less sweaty under pressure. Skye sniffed the material experimentally. It reeked. Maybe that meant it worked. The sports bra underneath all that was also black and at this point, it was like second skin when she tried to remove it.

"Ew."

Skye had a line of some sort of combination of muck and sweat all along her skin where the elastic of the garment had been. She shuddered at the possibilities of what could be included in that, kicked off her shoes and socks, and went for her belt buckle. She was in desperate need of soap and hot water. A lot of soap and hot water. She might use everything that was available on this plane.

-o-

Fitz was, he decided, never listening to Simmons again. Whatever she had just combined to attempt to recreate the airborne dendrotoxin grenade had backfired. All over him. He was covered in black and purple goo. He was covered in goo and definitely not in some sort of suspended unconscious state like he was supposed to be. It was ribboning through his hair and down his forehead, dripping down his neck. They needed someone else they could test things on instead of each other. Then, he wouldn't have to listen to _all_ of her ideas.

Except, of course, he reasoned, he would listen to her. Because as much as he loathed admitting it to anyone, she was light years ahead of him when it came to working with chemical compounds and how they affected biological properties.

He pushed open the door to the bus's bathroom facilities with a swift click and swept inside to a room full of steam.

_Huh. Someone must've jus' bathed. Least the air willnae be freezin'._

As soon as he had the thought though, he tripped over a pair of muddy boots and was met with a face full of Skye. A face full of Skye who was wearing very little clothing. Something dark and lacey and tiny. And she had a tattoo that he hadn't known about. Against his better judgment, he tilted his head and squinted, for a look at the artwork, of course. He couldn't tell exactly what that symbol was supposed to be…

"Fitz!"

-o-

"What the hell were you thinking?" Skye snapped. "You just walk right in, don't even turn around or anything when you see me? I'm practically naked!" Skye clutched the dress she had been planning on changing into to her chest, using it as some sort of shield.

"We all use tha same facilities, Skye!" His eyes were scrunched up tight and he had one hand over them for good measure. He tried to back away from her and tripped over the same pair of boots, which of course, led him to open his eyes and grope wildly for a hand hold.

Skye flinched and moved out of reach of his grasp.

"Fitz!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He scrambled to his feet. "You shouldnae be walkin' aroun' here all naked! Why were ye no' in one o' tha stalls? Jesus." He turned around, facing the door.

Skye slipped the dress over her head. "I was in a hurry." She tried to make her tone of voice even and measured like May would have, but she kept imagining that with the parts of her he was able to see, _he_ was imagining her naked, so she speedily gathered her things from the floor and ran from the bathroom and down the hall to her room.

She groaned in frustration as she tossed her filthy clothing into her laundry bag.

_Fitz just saw you in your underwear._

_Don't think about it._

She took a breath, grabbing the bag of clothing, intending to head to the washing machine.

_It's not a big deal. He's an adult. You're an adult. Even May's seen you in your underwear before. He's not going to make a big deal out of this._

-o-

The next day Skye was seated on a stool in the lab listening to Simmons go on and on about just why her experiment with a dendrotoxin grenade hadn't worked. She was talking so quickly and so animatedly that Skye was sure all of it was important, but she had absolutely no idea what she was saying. Triplett, leaning up against the table and feigning casual, didn't seem to be faring much better. He was at least making sounds of agreement in what looked like the right places though, if the way Simmons eyes lit up every time he agreed with her were any indication.

"Right, so I think we should be able to – Fitz, are you even listening?"

Skye turned to her right and found Fitz with a faraway expression on his face. When he realized they were all looking at him, he started, his eyes darting to Skye's t-shirt, then up to the ceiling.

"Seriously?" Skye crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry!" Fitz covered his eyes with both hands and made an annoyed growl at the back of his throat. It wasn't what she thought. It really wasn't. He was just surprised that she had a tattoo. On her rib cage. Just below… argh.

"You should be! What is wrong with you?"

"This is yer faul'! I cannae unsee it!"

"This is not my fault!"

"Do you have any idea what's wrong with the two of them?" Simmons asked Triplett curiously, her work with the dendrotoxin forgotten for the moment while she watched the arguing like a tennis match. She wondered if this was how people normally felt when she and Fitz got going. It was a bit unnerving.

"Fitz saw her in her underwear," Tripp told her matter-of-factly.

"Oh?"

Her tone was a horrible attempt at indifference and Trip turned to smile at her in amusement. It was difficult to tell if Simmons was upset because she would want to be the one to see Skye naked, or if it was because she didn't like the idea of Fitz seeing a scantily clad woman and it distracting him so much. For some reason, he was betting on the latter. It was cute. She didn't look at Skye the way she looked at Fitz.

"I guess seeing a friend practically naked makes people weird. I've never really had that problem," he joked. Simmons widened her eyes, her mouth maintaining that tiny _oh_ of surprise.

That got Skye and Fitz's attention as well.

"What? Have you seen a lot of your friends naked?" Skye shook her head in disbelief. Fitz scoffed at the question.

"I was in the army. Communal showers." Trip shrugged. "When everybody sees everybody naked, it's not really a big deal."

Skye smirked, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Not a big deal, huh? I would have thought differently."

Trip shook his head and pushed off the counter, pointing accusingly at her. "See, this is why it's a big deal to you. You're like a thirteen-year-old."

Skye laughed. "I was just kidding, Trip, come on." She knew he wasn't really upset, but she reached out one hand to stop him from leaving the lab anyway. "You made a good point though. Fitz saw me in my underwear." Skye narrowed her eyes in his direction. "I was basically naked. I would feel better if we were even, right?"

"That's not really – " Triplett started to say, but Skye wasn't listening anymore.

"Fitz? Come on, make us even?"

A machine at the back of the lab whirred. Simmons set her pen down on the table, eyes flitting amongst them all nervously. Triplett froze, an apologetic smile aimed in Fitz's direction. Skye was grinning now, looking completely at ease, as though evening the score was all that was necessary to make the awkwardness go away and set the world right on its axis again.

"Absolutely not. Jus' because I saw yer," Fitz gestured to Skye's chest, but didn't say the words, giving a huff of annoyance, "doesnae mean ye get ta see any part o' me without clothes. It was an accident. Ye were walkin' abou' where anyone could 'ave seen ye." He shook his head.

"But it wasn't anyone, Fitz. It was you. And you're making everything weird! Come on. You heard Trip. It's no big deal."

Fitz's face, if possible, became an even darker shade of red than before. "Nope. No' happenin'."

-o-

"Come on, Simmons. It's only fair." Skye swung her feet from her seat atop the counter, her heels clunking against the wood below. It had been two days of Fitz turning bright red every time Skye entered a room, and she was tired of it.

"Fair has nothing to do with it, Skye. I am not helping you with this. Just because you're…. curious."

Simmons made sure her hair was covering enough of her face that Skye couldn't see her expression as she leaned down to rummage in the kitchen drawer for a spoon to stir sugar into her tea. She really didn't want to hear any more about this, but it seemed to be the only topic of conversation Skye, Triplett, and Fitz were interested in these days.

"It's not curiosity! I just think Fitz should know how it feels to walk into a room, with a friend, and know that they're thinking about you naked." Skye snapped one of her hands down on the counter, shaking her head when Simmons sighed and offered her a mug of tea. _Okay,_ she thought to herself, _maybe I'm a little curious because the guy is always wearing so many layers, but this really is all about being fair._

"Skye, Fitz is…" Simmons tried to work out the word she wanted to use as she stirred. "Sensitive," she finally settled on. "And stubborn." She set her spoon down and took a sip of her tea. "This is one road to bad-girl-shenanigans that shouldn't be traveled."

May and Coulson came into the room, and Simmons quickly shut her mouth. There was no reason to alarm them with the knowledge that Skye was suddenly on a quest to catch Fitz, in her words, "mostly naked." Simmons wasn't sure what "mostly naked" was supposed to entail, and she didn't really want to find out. _I don't want to know. I don't need to know. There is no reason for this. And I am most certainly not thinking about Fitz "mostly naked."_

"Fitz is going to help me run diagnostics when he's done."

"Done with what?"

"He's going to shower." May grabbed a bottle of water as she spoke.

"Okay, keep me up to speed," Coulson agreed.

Simmons very decidedly did not like the look that came over Skye's face. "Fitz is taking a shower?" she asked the older agents with just a bit more excitement than she should have. "How long ago would you say he went to shower? Ballpark figure?"

May shrugged, but since Skye kept staring at her, she answered, "five minutes."

"Yes. Party time." Skye hopped down from her seat on the counter.

"No! Skye! There is no naked party time with Fitz!" She plunked her mug back down on the counter as May raised an eyebrow. "Erm-"

"I don't need to know," Coulson said quickly, shaking his head.

Skye was already half way down the hall, and Simmons hurried after her, hissing for her to stop.

"I kind of want to know," May deadpanned.

"The two of them? You'll probably know all about it in ten."

-o-

"Skye, please don't do this," Simmons whispered, following her down the hall. "It's a bad idea. If you let it go, Fitz will let it go." She was pretty sure. She hoped. They were all adults after all.

"Simmons, this is happening. I am doing this. With or without you."

The two of them stopped outside the bathroom door, Skye determinedly holding out a hand to open it, Simmons shifting her weight from foot to foot, wringing her hands in front of her. When Skye walked into the room full of steam, Simmons gave up, leaning against the wall and facing the other way. She was not going to be a part of this.

Footsteps alerted her to someone coming down the hall toward her.

-o-

Skye crept into the bathroom, hoping that her shoes didn't squeak on the floor. For the shower only having been running for about five minutes, the room was ridiculously humid. They needed a better ventilation system in here.

She bypassed the first shower stall, seeing it was empty, and peeked her head around the corner to the second one.

"Fitz, this is going to be painless. And now, we're even!"

"Skye, wait," Simmons called, opening the door to the bathroom.

"Not Fitz," Triplett said to her from the stall, hands on hips, clad only in his boxer briefs. He shook his head in something like amusement as Skye turned an odd shade of pink and dissolved into giggles, leaning against the wall for support. He glanced down at his Captain America inspired undergarment.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "May said Fitz was showering." She waved a hand in front of her as though gesturing at him, wanting to make a joke about him and Coulson probably having similar taste, but she turned back to the doorway where Simmons was standing, a frown on her face, Fitz right behind her, his curls wet and sticking to his forehead. "Fitz!" Skye pointed to him. "You were supposed to be in here!"

"Erm. Already done?" He scrunched his face up in something between indignation and apology. "Wait, ye were tryin' ta catch _me_ in tha shower?" He crossed his hands over his chest, backing further behind Simmons as though Skye could see through his clothes. "'S no' like I saw ye completely naked!"

"Can y'all get out so I can shower?" Triplett's voice called from somewhere beyond Skye. For the first time since they'd known him, he sounded a little irritated.

"I thought you didn't care if people saw you naked," Skye said over her shoulder.

"I don't care when normal people see me naked. _This_ isn't normal. Normal people don't _try_ to catch their friends naked."

"I wasn't trying to catch you naked!" Skye protested. "I was trying to catch Fitz! This was just a happy accident." She giggled again, almost walking into Simmons while she called to him, "the red, white and blue's a good look for you, Trip!"

He balled a t-shirt up and threw it in their general direction, not bothering to try and come around the corner.

-o-

Trip quickly came to the conclusion that if this team wasn't going to try for normalcy, neither was he. If you can't beat them, join them, right?

-o-

Simmons liked to follow the rules and do what was expected of her. That was no secret. She was not going to attempt to surprise anyone while they showered, while they changed for a mission, while they got ready for bed. She wasn't. But she was becoming highly amused with Skye's obsession with catching Fitz, and Triplett's need to get Skye back for telling everyone that he was sporting Captain America underwear.

"I'm telling you, Simmons. I think I've managed to catch Trip without pants on about five times now. Still haven't caught Fitz though."

Simmons paused in the scrapings she was taking from the artifact in front of her. She was almost certain she had heard that wrong.

"Skye…"

"Ugh. It's kind of unfair how pretty he is. I mean, I think he's prettier than me and you combined. How is that fair? No guy should be allowed to be that pretty."

"Skye."

"What?"

"You caught Agent Triplett without pants?" Simmons asked her, trying very hard not to laugh. "I think you've taken this too far."

"What are you talking about? You were there the first time! I've been trying to catch him so I can get a picture of his superhero underwear. How cute is that?" Skye's eyes glazed over just a bit as she stared through the glass door of the lab out into the cargo hold where Fitz and Triplett were doing some repairs on Lola, her hands held in place above the keys on her laptop.

Simmons bypassed the knowledge that Skye was suddenly finding their teammate adorable. "What? But he was wearing pants then. I think you catching him naked is crossing a line."

"I never said he was naked!"

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I – oh, wait, this is one of those British things, isn't it?"

Simmons furrowed her brow in confusion while Skye grinned across from her. "Simmons, what does pants mean in your British-speak?"

"You mean in English," Simmons shot back.

Skye rolled her eyes. "Yes, in English."

"Pants is short for underpants, obviously."

"See? No. In America, pants are just pants." Skye pointed to her jeans.

"No. Those are trousers."

"Trousers are what you would wear for a business casual party. These are jeans."

"You just said they were pants! What is business casual?" Simmons asked.

"I feel like we're getting off track here," Skye admitted. She stared at Simmons for a moment, then went back to looking out the window. Fitz was aggravated at Triplett for something judging by the piece of metal in his hand he was waving around.

"So, you were saying you haven't been able to catch Fitz then?" Simmons inwardly cursed herself for bringing her lab partner up. Skye had been so focused on Triplett lately. She might have just opened that door back up.

"No…. I haven't." Skye tapped her chin thoughtfully. Though her gaze was still on the window and the guys outside, she could hear Simmons begin to busy herself with her equipment again, placing her scrapings in specimen jars and sealing them tightly. "Have you?"

There was a pause and the sound of Simmons' scalpel clattering to the table. "I am not playing this little game that you all seem to enjoy so much."

"So, if you happened to walk into the room while Fitz was changing, you wouldn't look? You aren't a tiny bit curious about what he's hiding under all those sweater vests? Simmons, it's human nature to want to know!"

-o-

"Skye, I hear you've been staking out the bathroom to catch Triplett."

Skye started from her seat on the couch. "AC! Who told you that?" She looked accusingly at the shape of May behind him. May just stared back at her not saying a word.

"Does it matter?" Coulson asked her, a slight smile on his face. Sometimes, he wondered if Skye forgot she was living in a den of spies.

"I'm just trying to snap a pic of his underwear. No big deal."

Coulson blinked, not sure he was getting the full story, or if he even wanted to the full story. Instead of saying anything, he waited patiently for Skye to continue.

"Okay, so he's got this pair of Captain America underwear. It's got the little shield with the star. Well, I mean, it's not _little_ -"

"I get it, Skye." Coulson held up a hand to stop her. "Just... don't do any damage."

"Roger that!" Skye gave him a mock salute and went back to the files on her laptop.

May raised her eyebrow at Coulson as they left the hacker to her work.

"Would it be strange for me to ask Triplett where he got them?"

May sighed and her lips quirked as she tried not to smile.

-o-

Skye heard the door to the bathroom open. All this training with May, she must have been picking up on some of her skills. She stood very still in the shower stall, still fully clothed. Agent Triplett, as stealthily as a cat, crept around the corner and found her standing there waiting for him.

"You lookin' for me?"

-o-

Skye practically cackled while she stood in the doorway to the bathroom. Triplett, who had attempted to catch her unaware again, had just been met with a face full of shaving cream.

"I should've seen that comin'," Trip admitted, wiping it off with one hand.

"Play nice, kids," Coulson admonished as he walked by them in the hall.

-o-

Trip was spectacularly losing a game of chess to Fitz in the common room when May and Skye finally finished their training session, stalking by the guys without a second glance. When Fitz check mated him immediately after, he realized that the engineer had been going easy on him this entire time.

"Set it up again, I'll be right back."

Fitz shook his head. "Good luck."

So far, Fitz had been lucky. Skye hadn't caught him changing yet. He was hoping the battle between Triplett and Skye was distracting her enough that she wasn't concerned with him anymore. He had his doubts though. Especially since a couple of the times that she caught Trip, she had actually been looking for him.

-o-

Triplett waited patiently until he heard the rush of water filtering through pipes before he silently made his way into the bathroom. He wasn't, if he was honest, really particular about _actually_ catching Skye naked or clothed. It was more about surprising her. He just wanted to catch her unaware. He still wasn't sure how he had managed to let her sneak up on him so many times now. Unfortunately, he didn't stop to think about the fact that Skye was doing a training session with _Agent Melinda May._

Triplett found himself shoved up against the wall before he even made it all the way to the stall by a very annoyed May clad only in a sports bra and yoga pants. She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Sorry," he managed to get out, even with her arm against his throat. She relaxed her hold on him, but only just. "This is Skye's fault. She-"

May rolled her eyes and let him go, waving him off. May was well aware as to what was going on in her bus.

-o-

Unlike the rest of them, May didn't care to see anyone naked. She _really_ didn't care. Skye and Triplett trying to scare the daylights out of one another in the midst of changing clothes was kind of funny though. And a pretty great training exercise. But this was the second time Triplett had walked in on her thinking she was Skye. And Skye was leaving everyone on edge with her need to catch Triplett in his Captain America boxer briefs again. And Fitz wasn't making the situation any easier on himself by not being able to look any of the women on board in the eye anymore.

She thought blanket retaliation against them all was in order.

-o-

"I'll just go and grab it, Skye. I'll be right back."

Simmons was not usually one for movie nights with Skye. The other woman had the taste of a seventeen-year-old boy when it came to movies, going for raunchy comedy over story telling. But tonight, Skye had finally agreed to let Simmons introduce her to the cheesy science and drama that was the original _Star Trek_ series. Never mind that it was actually Fitz who owned the box set.

She raised her fist to knock on the door to his room, but then remembered that he had told them he would be down in the lab ironing out the kinks in a new smaller and lighter ICER. She shrugged her shoulders and punched his code into the keypad by the wall, letting herself into his room with a hiss.

"Wha' tha-"

"Fitz?"

She stood perfectly still, forgetting to turn around while Fitz stood in front of her wrapped in a towel. He crossed his arms over his chest, a blush spreading across his skin.

"Have ye joined Skye in her ques' then?"

Simmons finally regained her composure, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling so she wouldn't be staring at the expanse of incredibly pale Scottish skin that was rapidly flushing in front of her. It was kind of turning her brain to mush in the best way and she was pretty sure now was not the time for thinking _those_ thoughts about her best friend.

"No! I'm sorry, Fitz! I just came to grab _Star Trek!_ I thought you were in the lab, I swear!"

With a sigh, he handed her the DVDs and waited for her to leave the room. He scratched the back of his head when the door closed behind her and groaned in frustration.

On the other side of the door, Simmons leaned against the wall and blew out a slow breath.

_You are not going to mention this to Skye. You are not going to mention this to Skye. Jemma Simmons, you tell Skye nothing about those few freckles or the line of water running down his chest from his hair dripping..._

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to think of scalpels and microscopes and other things that did not involve Fitz being wrapped in a towel.

-o-

"About time Fitz got some hand-to-hand combat training," Skye mused to no one in particular as Trip gave Fitz a pat on the back. Fitz still wasn't all that coordinated, but he was doing much better than when Trip had originally offered to work with him.

"I'm surprised you're not taking this opportunity to try and catch them both changing," Coulson asked from behind her, making her jump.

"Jeez, AC!"

"They're both going to have to go shower after that training session."

"I thought you wanted us to stop acting like children."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Skye grinned at him. She waited until she was sure both of the guys had enough time to grab a change of clothes and hit the showers before she took off.

Coulson sighed. May, who was practicing her tai chi in the corner and had remained silent the entire time, gave him a look. "I know, I shouldn't encourage them. I think it's helping them blow off some steam though." He paused. She didn't say anything. "Besides, it's harmless. Living in such close quarters, they're bound to see each other undressed eventually." May moved into another position and he nodded. "You're right. If it goes too far, I'll let you put a stop to it."

-o-

Simmons inhaled the soothing scent of her lavender shampoo. She made it herself, and it always calmed her nerves. She lathered her hair, then let the water from the shower rinse the scent all around her. It had been a long day. She was exhausted. She wanted to shower and then collapse into her bed.

"Hey, Skye? I think it's time for a little payback." Triplett's voice came from the other side of the curtain.

"Not Skye!" Simmons shrieked before Trip could do anything like pull back the curtain or steal her clothes.

"Sorry, Simmons."

-o-

"Ha! Yes! Finally!"

Skye was doing some sort of dance as she entered the room to find May and Triplett going over a file on the table in front of them. She was clutching jeans, a button down, and a sweater in her hands in triumph.

"Does this mean you finally caught Fitz and you're going to leave me alone?" Triplett asked. Skye was too busy celebrating to answer him.

-o-

And in fact, she did manage to catch Trip in his Captain America boxer briefs again shortly after catching Fitz. He refused to pose for a picture.

-o-

Fitz, after being caught half-dressed by Skye twice, was done being embarrassed by it. When she stole his clothes for the third time though, he decided Triplett had the right idea about pay back.

-o-

Simmons, upon being confused for Skye by both Trip and Fitz on separate occasions, had her pajamas stolen from the bathroom when she was in the shower. Twice. She considered asking Coulson to allow them to install a lock on the door. It was the one door accessible to everyone. She was starting to think that was a mistake.

-o-

When Coulson realized that the war of the unclothed had surpassed amusement and gone straight into annoyance, he gave May the go ahead to put a stop to it.

-o-

Skye eyed the board in front of her. It wasn't often that she got to play games with May, who was better than her at basically everything, and she was definitely enjoying trouncing the other woman at Battleship.

"Hit," May muttered out of the corner of her mouth, rolling her eyes at Skye's gleeful expression.

Trip, looking the most flustered Skye had ever seen him, sped into the room, eyes wide at the sight of her on the couch, and then plopped down next to her.

"You're out here," he remarked to Skye in surprise and fear. "I was out here the whole time too," he announced to the two women. "It was all Fitz."

"What was all Fitz?" Coulson asked the words from a chair by the bar, and Triplett, who hadn't noticed him when he came in, visibly flinched. Coulson had gotten even better at making himself nearly invisible.

"Uh, nothing, sir. It's nothing, really." He turned back to the two women. "She's less likely to kill Fitz though, right?"

Fitz came scurrying into the room seconds later, and folded himself into the chair next to May.

"She's finally goin' ta kill us," He panicked in Triplett's general direction.

"Oh no, she's gonna go after you," Triplett nodded his head for emphasis. "I was here the whole time, right?" He elbowed Skye for support, but the hacker, who seemed to be catching up to what was going on, smiled wide.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've just been playing Battleship with May."

Trip's scared face pleaded with May's expressionless one. May blinked, just once, and went back to looking at the game board in her lap.

"Alright! Enough is enough!" Simmons, wrapped up in a towel, hair not yet even wet from the shower, marched into the room, her skin flushed a light pink. "I have had enough of people coming into the bathroom unannounced. The three of you are children! If it matters so much to you all that you are all _even,_ disrobe now. Then, we're all on the same page." She waited, breathing hard through her nose. "No? Good. If one more person walks in on me in the shower or steals my towel or my clothes, there are plenty of chemicals in this mobile lab of ours that I could use and leave no trace. I could turn all of you purple," she pointedly glared at Skye, "or shrivel up your manhood," she snapped at Triplett when he started to smile at the idea of a purple Skye, "or make your hair fall out," she added, her gaze falling on Fitz, though her anger seemed to be fading by that point. "Now, I am going to shower." She turned on her heel and marched back down the hall to the bathroom. "No one follow me!"

"Hmmm…." May made the noise, and though Skye thought she was simply musing over a spot to pick for the game, Coulson cleared his throat. May huffed in annoyance. "What stall does Simmons use?" she grudgingly asked the room.

"Why?" Skye responded.

"Second," Fitz and Trip responded in unison, glancing at one another and then away.

"I mean," Trip added when Coulson's glare pierced the room over the book he had been reading, "that's where she keeps her shampoo, right?" He gave an easy grin, but it looked more frazzled than usual.

"Fitz, you should stop her," May informed him.

"What? Me? Why?" He shook his head. She had specifically said, _no one follow me._ Fitz was not prepared for the wrath of Simmons.

"You really can turn skin purple," May supplied evenly. Everyone looked at her in surprise, except for Coulson who went back to reading his book. "I was always good at chemistry," she added when no one moved.

"You took an extra long shower today…" Skye mused, imagining May rigging up some sort of chemical delivery mechanism in the shower head.

"You all shouldn't have dragged me into it," she gave as her explanation.

"It was an accident," Trip attempted to tell her for the third time, but Fitz was already running from the room while Skye collapsed in laughter.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Devan Alexander over at FFN for suggesting the word, and to notapepper for helping me figure out what to do with this chapter. You guys are awesome!
> 
> Also, yes, this chapter is definitely inspired by the season one Friends episode where Chandler sees Rachel just out of the shower, and it sets off a chain of naked events that are incredibly funny.


	22. Voices

-o-

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Voices.

-o-

When he was a little boy, Leopold Fitz used to wake up to the sound of his mother yelling to him that he needed to get his lazy bones out of bed so he wouldn't be late for school. There was never any malice to it; he could always hear the smile in her tone, even through the door to his room. By the time he was a teenager and in college on his own, the sound of her voice wasn't there to wake him up anymore; instead it was anonymous voices on the radio taking calls from listeners that would make him groan in annoyance and grope for the alarm clock.

By the time he was 18 and well into his training at the SHIELD Science and Technology Academy, there were no voices waking him up anymore. He preferred the buzzing or ringing or any other sound that wasn't human alerting him that the sun was up and he should be too. He didn't need the comfort of a familiar voice to lead him back to the land of the living. Most days, he was up before the alarm anyway.

Until the night when he fell asleep with his back against the foot of Jemma Simmons' bed while she lectured him on just why his newest invention wasn't going to work without her. He woke up to her sharp gasp and "Fitz, we're going to be late for Professor Vaughn's lecture. How could you let me fall asleep?"

He decided he wouldn't mind waking up to that voice because as she flitted around him grabbing a sweater, pulling her hair into a ponytail, and making sure to admonish him the entire time, he couldn't help but think that Simmons was highly amusing when she was panicking over something as small as being late for a lecture.

-o-

Nine years later and he knew he didn't simply find Simmons amusing. If he did, he wouldn't have followed her into the field. If it was simply friendship and amusement, he wouldn't feel like this.

He leaned his head back against the wall and tried not to glare. Simmons was sitting at the other end of the room, explaining something on her tablet to Triplett, the lilt of her voice floating over to him every so often, but he wasn't particularly focused on what she was saying. He was more focused on the way her eyes lit up while she explained things to him. He missed being the one she explained things to.

Bloody Triplett.

They didn't need another Ops agent. They could take care of themselves.

He pushed himself away from the wall and decided to focus on the task at hand, marching into the lab, eyes passing over the inventory they had been going through earlier. He headed straight for an old notebook of weapons designs. They could use something new. Something Hydra didn't know about. He leaned against the counter and idly flipped through pages of graph paper with notes and sketches scratched onto them from bored nights monitoring readouts of equipment at Sci Ops.

She giggled.

Giggled.

Even in the lab, he could hear her.

He huffed in annoyance just as Skye strode into the room, laptop in hand.

"Relax, Fitz. She's not going anywhere. She's your lobster." Skye shrugged and smiled at him like he was supposed to know what she was saying, as if normal people referred to their friends as lobsters.

"Wha' tha hell are ye talkin' abou'?"

"Am I the only one on this team who ever watches TV? I lived in a van before this for Christ's sake!" Skye shook her head in exasperation and stalked away from him.

Fitz stood still, brow knitted in confusion more so than annoyance now. His hands pressed into the counter in front of him, but she didn't turn around and offer him an explanation. Instead, she joined Simmons and Triplett at their table, her words mingling with theirs. It wasn't so bad when Triplett and Simmons were smiling at Skye, laughing with her. He could deal with that.

-o-

Just a few months later, Simmons was seated beside him in a stiff chair, slumped and sniffling. Of course, he didn't actually _know_ she was there. He was blissfully unaware of the world around him most of the time, his eyes closed, his vital signs monitored by all manner of stickers and needles, his brain busy healing itself from precious minutes spent without oxygen. It was as though he was in a perpetual white-out, a deadly blizzard where there was nothing around him but sheets and sheets of snow. Every so often, words would come to him from far away, but no matter how far he walked, he never seemed to be able to reach the people to whom they belonged. At least he wasn't cold. Not even a little bit. It should have bothered him, but it didn't.

"You've got to get some sleep. You've been doing nothing but research and observing him since we got here."

He knew that voice. He did. It was a woman. She was pretty. Long brown hair. She laughed a lot. He thought she liked seafood.

"I'm alright. I just want to stay here for a little bit longer."

Strange. All the time he wandered through the snow, and that voice was most definitely the loudest. The most familiar. It opened up a hole in his chest that wouldn't fill. He had vague recollections of a police box, specimen jars, and patterned ties. He walked faster.

The voices faded away almost as soon as they began though, and he slept.

-o-

"He's been unconscious for a long time. How long d'you think he'll be like this?"

He jolted into a particularly harsh part of the blizzard. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he had a feeling it was a quite a bit. He knew that voice too. And he couldn't put his finger on why, but he had this feeling that it was imperative he reach that voice before the one that he knew as well as his own joined it.

"There are just too many variables. I can't account for all of them. I don't – I don't know when he'll wake up."

Too late. She was already there. He started running. The cold still didn't affect him, but at some point, his lungs began to ache, and he had to stop, his chest heaving as piles of snowflakes grew around him. He looked behind him, and he couldn't even find his own footprints. What the bloody hell kind of place was this? There were no roads, no trees, no signs. The only change was the rate at which the snow fell around him.

"Why don't you take a break? I'll sit with him a while."

"Okay. But call me if any-"

"I will."

Fitz frowned and started walking. He couldn't run, but he wasn't going to stop trying to reach them.

" _Call me Ishmael. Some years ago – never mind how long precisely –"_

God, not the story about the bloody whale. He hated that story.

-o-

He tried to push himself a little further.

"Get Simmons!"

When the snowflakes fell on his skin this time, he felt it. The cold. Piercing right into the very core of him. He was fairly certain it was colder than anything he'd ever felt before. Even back home in –

Scotland.

That's where he was from. His brain was finally starting to catch up with the rest of him.

"He moved his hand! Get Simmons!"

Simmons. He forced himself into the cold and tried to walk faster.

-o-

"I don't understand. You want us to move him to another facility?"

There it was. The English woman. Simmons. Jemma. She liked to dissect things. He pushed ahead, the snow nearly burning his skin.

"The recommendation has been that he be somewhere where he can be constantly monitored. You have a job to do, Simmons."

That voice dripped with sympathy and authority. Male. Older. For some reason, he knew he could trust this voice. Almost as much as he trusted Simmons. It was getting harder to make it through the snow, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to keep going.

"I can do both."

-o-

"Simmons. Dinner."

He started in the midst of the storm. That voice. It made him a little nervous.

"I'm not hungry."

"I wasn't asking."

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor. A door closing. Was there tile under this snow? He kicked his feet experimentally, but all he found was more snow. His toes hurt.

"Fitz?"

He glanced in the direction of the voice and warily began to walk toward it. It wasn't that he didn't trust this woman. He did. But there was something about her that made him want to look over his shoulder and make sure no one was following him.

"I don't know if you can hear me. But Simmons needs you to wake up. Don't sleep too long."

He ran.

-o-

"God, Fitz. How could you be so bloody stupid?"

The words floated to him like they were being whispered by the wind. It was unnerving. It was her voice though, Jemma's, so he didn't care that it raised goose bumps on his skin or made his forehead wrinkle in worry.

There was a click somewhere far ahead of him, almost like the sound of a door closing.

"You did the math. The bloody math!"

The words were getting louder as he picked one foot up, placing it in front of the other, making his way on an invisible path to the woman he couldn't see.

"What gave you the right to choose? We could have thrown scissors, paper, stone for it! We could have drawn straws! Anything! Why did _you_ get to leave me? Alone!"

The cavern that threatened his chest every time he heard her voice opened up again as the words roared around him, threatening to swallow him whole. Fitz struggled for breath while he half walked, half ran, through the drifts.

"You probably can't even hear me." She sniffed, her voice wavering above him, ahead of him. He wasn't sure where now. "Maybe I'll get Skye to find a real telepath on the old SHIELD Index. How would you like that? Then we could get inside your head and get all the answers we needed!"

Snowflakes spiraled around him in dizzying patterns, and he raised his arms in front of his face, unable to see more than a few inches in front of him.

"Then I'd know if you were still in there." Her voice was back to a whisper again, fading away on the wind.

-o-

"Hey, Jemma. Brought you some tea."

The snow was falling slower now. He plodded along. But he was so tired.

"Thank you."

His heartbeat picked up just a bit.

"He's going to wake up, right?"

The snow stopped falling. He looked up at the sky in surprise. He didn't think he remembered what it was like to not be trudging through snow. Jemma didn't answer the other voice. Skye. That was her name. Or if she did, he didn't hear it.

"I mean, he has to wake up, right? He's your lobster."

_She's not going anywhere. She's your lobster._

Bits and pieces of conversations, missions, experiments floated back to him a little more firmly than they had been. He kept moving, trying to keep track of them all, but there were too many. He would reach out, and they would float away.

"What does that even mean?"

"Seriously? I'm going to have to teach all of you about quality television."

He laughed as he walked. A beeping started to echo around him, but he ignored it and continued on, trying to hone in on the sound of the women.

"Skye."

"Right. Lobsters. They mate for life, right? Fitz is your lobster."

She said the words like there was no room for doubt. It just was. He stepped in a puddle that used to be snow and flinched as the dampness seeped through his clothing.

"That's not true."

His steps halted.

"Lobsters don't mate for life. I don't know where that myth came from."

He nodded, breathing a sigh of relief and resumed his journey. The sun was starting to beat down on him. He was actually sweating.

"Are you blushing?"

"What? No?"

"You are!"

The voices faded away and he groaned in frustration. He kept going in the same direction, hoping it was the right way.

-o-

"Hey, Fitz."

He had been sitting on the wet ground, trying to get his bearings. Knowing the sun's position in the sky didn't give him an idea of where he was supposed to go. He didn't know if he was looking for north or west or anything else. But Skye's voice gave him a direction. He stood and started up again. It seemed he could never quite get to the people he could hear.

"So, I don't know how this whole coma thing works. I asked Trip 'cause Simmons is, well… Simmons. Trip said some research shows that people can hear you when they're in a coma. Their brains have them awake even though they're asleep? Something like that. I just wanted you to know, if you're listening, if you're awake, that you really need to come back to us."

Something in her voice broke and she had to clear her throat. A rain drop fell from somewhere above him and he shuddered.

"Especially Simmons. She's… she's not doing very well. It's hard for her to work without you. She needs you."

He moved faster, dodging the raindrops.

"She told me you couldn't be her lobster, by the way, so I've been doing some research of my own, and I think I get it. Lobsters aren't as loyal as I thought. You're her French angelfish. You ever heard of one of those?"

He rolled his eyes. He was not a fish. Though he did have flashes of a memory that felt like he was in some sort of fish tank. Darkness all around him. Bubbles outside the window.

And he definitely wasn't bloody French.

"Hmm… I think you can hear me. Your hand just twitched. I don't know if you can feel that, but it did."

He held one hand up in front of his face and flexed it. It was stiff, a little uncomfortable.

"Anyway, French angelfish, they do mate for life. Once they pair off, they live together, they travel together, they'll even fight together to protect their territory. It's kind of cool. They live in reefs where the water's shallow. And the younger fish, they clean up after the older fish. All kinds of fish. Keeping the ecosystem in balance. They're out during the day, when the sunlight filters down to them, but at night, the pairs always go back to the same place to keep themselves safe in the dark. Together. It sounds like you and Simmons to me."

The sunlight was getting to be way too much for him. It was too bright. He squinted against it.

"Simmons! Simmons, he's opening his eyes!"

-o-

"Dr. Fitz? Can you hear me?"

He squinted against the bright lights of the room, and tried to bring a hand up to cover his eyes, but found it was too heavy for him to move.

"Turn the lights down!"

He blinked, peeking through eyes that weren't used to being open.

"Dr. Fitz?"

He nodded his head, opening his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry for anything to come out. His gaze traveled down to his arm, held in place with a cast.

"How is he?" Coulson. It was a struggle to pull up that name, but he knew the man.

The doctor brought him a glass of water. He did not know this doctor though. "Slow sips," he instructed before announcing. "He's responsive. That's a good sign."

Something like a whimper came from beyond the doctor, and he struggled to see the rest of the people in the room. There were a lot of them. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Leopold Fitz." He almost didn't recognize the words as they left him. His voice was scratchy and raw from not having been used in so long. But as soon as he said his name, it was like there was a collective rush of air into the room around him, like everyone else had been holding their breath, waiting on him.

"Good. Good." The doctor nodded behind him. "Can you tell me who any of these people are?" The doctor pointed behind him, gesturing for someone to come forward.

Fitz went down the line, Coulson first, struggling to recall names and faces, but strangely enough, though there were gaps, he could recall what each of them sounded like.

Coulson. Strong. Sympathetic. Usually quiet.

May. Firm. Dry. Sarcastic. Didn't say much.

Skye. Loud. Giggly. Sometimes she snorted when she laughed.

Triplett. Easy-going. Smooth. You could hear him smiling when he talked.

He took a breath before he kept going, closing his eyes briefly. His head was beginning to ache, but there was still another person behind the doctor.

"Simmons." He said it without even fully opening his eyes back up. "Jemma." Before he could process the things he remembered about her, there was a weight pressed against him and her arms were around him as best as she could get them.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Fitz."

British. Soft. Warm.

-o-

When he was 27, Leopold Fitz woke up from a very long sleep. It wasn't to his mother's voice telling him it was time to get up, it wasn't to anonymous sounds of talk radio, and it wasn't to the buzzing of an alarm. He couldn't always remember everything before he went to sleep, but every so often, bits of old conversations would come to him in voices he recognized. The quiet and articulate voice of authority. The clipped sound of a command. The slow southern drawl of competition. The bubbly chatter of friendship. And the lilting and overlapping sound of home.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Skye shamelessly stole the lobster line from an episode of Friends. I don't know. Apparently I'm on a bit of Friends kick lately. Everything Skye says about French angelfish is true too. I do my research. Usually. 
> 
> Thanks, as usual, to notapepper for being amazing and helping me out with this one! (If you're a FitzSimmons fan, you should be reading her stuff!)


	23. Wager

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Wager.

-o-

Triplett loaded several bullets into the gun on the table in front of him. He didn't know what kind of favors people owed Coulson, this zombie agent back from the dead that he couldn't help but admire, but damn if he hadn't been able to get them a handful of weapons and a jump jet from one of his connections. The man really was living up to the legend. He got it though. He was the kind of guy who inspired trust. He wasn't going to ask anyone to do anything he wouldn't do himself. He believed they could change the world. Triplett had only been "on" this team for a few weeks, and he already felt like these were the people he was supposed to be with. He'd never felt that way working with Garrett.

Well, as it turned out, Garrett was a psychopath, so maybe that was a good thing.

There was only one person in this whole group that he knew didn't completely trust him yet.

Speak of the little Scottish devil.

Fitz laid out the pieces of an old radio in front of him, taking a screwdriver and tinkering with a piece in the back before putting it all back together and handing it off to May, who slipped it into one of her many pockets and then made her way back to the plane.

"Y'all ready for your stakeout?" Trip asked in his most conversational tone, slipping the gun into its holster.

Fitz shrugged, then gave a short nod as he got to work on another radio. Short range, they wouldn't do much good, but they would work for them in the short term if May or Skye or any of the others got separated from one another. Trip wondered why, if Fitz didn't want to talk to him, he'd brought the radios he was working on to this particular spot. Simmons or Skye must have said something to him about playing nice.

The engineer was hard to read. Some days he would laugh at Trip's jokes, share his food. Other days, it was like he remembered he was _supposed_ to like him and would spend the whole time he was around him scowling. Trip knew why. It wasn't difficult to see that Fitz had some issues when it came to Simmons and sharing. What was harder to figure out was what else Trip was supposed to do to get on his good side. He'd tried joking around with him, showing an interest in the same things Fitz was interested in, even trading on his limited scientific knowledge, but nothing seemed to work.

"All ya gotta do is get eyes on them, y'all know that, right?" Trip clicked open the case holding all of the Howling Commando gear he had liberated from his family's home. He was not looking forward to holiday dinners where he was going to have to hear about that repeatedly. It was enough that his line of work was constantly compared to his grandfather's.

"Yes, we bloody well know we're no' ta engage. Coulson only remin's us every time he goes over tha plan." Fitz shook his head, and Trip was sure that he was sick of being reminded of the fact that he and Simmons had boarded the bus without being field-ready.

Trip nodded, a half-smile on his face as he regarded Fitz's furrowed brow. He twisted the screwdriver in his hands, removing one small piece, making a few tiny adjustments.

"Just in case," Trip told him, "you and Simmons get separated – or made – " he added at the alarmed expression that crossed Fitz's face though the other man tried not to show it, "maybe you should take a few more things with you. You know, so you're prepared." Fitz's shoulders relaxed a bit, and it probably should have bothered Triplett that the engineer was more worried about him and Simmons being separated in the field than he was them getting caught.

"We're takin' a few things with us," Fitz tried to protest as Trip raised a small button, then the pack of laser cigarettes from the case. Trip shook his head at the cigarettes and put them back inside.

"Yeah, but your DWARFS aren't really weapons. They're like… crime scene techs, right? They analyze chemicals and record conversations, things like that?"

Trip watched the thoughts flicker across Fitz's face as he considered what each of the different machines could do. None of their specialties involved violence. That hadn't been what the science duo had originally created them for, and despite all of the tweaks they had made, even using them to block someone's path of escape on occasion, they hadn't been upgraded to any kind of weapon status.

"I just don't want you and Simmons gettin' stuck without any kind of advantage. You guys damage your hands in a fight, who's gonna make us all our cool toys," Trip joked, trying to goad Fitz into seeing that taking some of the Howling Commando gear from him didn't mean that Fitz couldn't take care of himself. He didn't want Fitz to think this was him trying to show off, trying to use his family history to gain favor. _This_ was him worried about the scientists being out there without backup. Trip, against whatever training Garrett had instilled in him, _cared_ about all of these people. Very much. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for them.

"If yer worried abou' Simmons, I'm no' goin' ta let anythin' happen ta her," Fitz remarked, eyes roaming the contents of the case on his own now. He swallowed hard after the words.

Trip sighed, holding the tiny button in his hand that was made to look like a cheap toy, the kind that Skye had crowed could be purchased on the back of a comic book. Based on stories he had heard about Fitz, it was just the kind of thing the engineer would carry on him, even forget he had in his pocket. Trip held it out to him.

"It's not just Simmons I'm worried about, okay? I'd hate to lose you just when you're starting to like me."

Fitz stared at Triplett with a blank expression for nearly a full minute before accepting the buzzer from his outstretched hand and putting it in his pocket.

"It's no' tha' I don' like ye."

Trip couldn't help it. He snorted. It was loud and unexpected, and if everyone else hadn't been so wrapped up in prepping for their mission, they probably would have all turned to see what was going on. As it was, nobody paid them any attention at all.

"'S not!" Fitz hissed the words, glancing around to make sure no one was looking.

Triplett left the smile on his face, but he held back from laughing, raising his eyebrows and then inclining his head just to his left where Simmons was speaking to Coulson about something. He purposely didn't let his gaze rest on Skye, who was only a few feet away, so Fitz wouldn't clam up. Fitz huffed, drawing himself up to his full height and looked Triplett right in the eye.

"Say it."

Trip's only response was to quirk one eyebrow up even higher and to grin even wider.

"Wha' ever it is, jus' say it."

"Fitz…" Triplett hesitated, still smiling. "Tell me the truth, okay?" He held his palms up in the universal symbol for _I'm not a threat, see?_ "When you first met me, when I helped with Skye, you were nice." Trip narrowed his eyes a bit when Fitz did, employing the mirroring technique some agents used during interrogations before realizing he was doing it. "Polite, maybe a little short, but nice. How come the next time we met, you argued with me about everything? You spent a lotta time givin' me the stink eye. What changed?" He gave Fitz a moment to collect himself, but Fitz bit down on his bottom lip, eyes still narrowed, suspicious. "I'm not gonna say anything to anybody, okay?" Fitz nodded, but his posture didn't relax, and Trip sighed.

"I jus' have a hard time adjustin' to things changin'. Tha's all." He abruptly bent back down, making a few more adjustments to the device on the table before he snapped the panel back into place.

"That's bull, Fitz. You and I both know it. I hear you adjusted to workin' in the field pretty damn quick. That was a big change. And you're pretty great at it. Simmons says you're the bravest person she knows, even braver than Coulson. I believe her." Triplett leaned closer to Fitz when he began to smile, one hand on the edge of the case, trying to make it appear as though the two of them were sifting through more of the Howling Commando gear. The tell-tale flush gave him away. "It's Simmons, right?" Fitz jerked sharply, but Triplett grabbed his arm and said, "It's alright, Fitz."

Fitz stilled, leaving the screwdriver and the radio on the table. "She's…" He thought for a moment, trying to decide what to say. "She's differen' aroun' you," was what he settled on.

"How," Trip pressed, picking up a pair of x-ray glasses from the case, holding them out to Fitz, then when they both shook their head, he put them back inside.

"I dunnae. She jus' is." Fitz shrugged stubbornly.

"And that bothers you?"

Fitz nodded, reaching into the case and playing with the end of a noisemaker, but not actually spinning it.

"Look, Fitz, maybe she just acts different because she doesn't really know me. She knows all of you guys." Triplett shrugged, moving a few objects around carefully, watching Fitz out of the corner of his eye. "She's bein' nice, lookin' out for me. Coulson did say I was her responsibility when he let me tag along. That's all it is."

"Yeah. Okay." Fitz flicked one of the latches on the case, still not looking at Trip.

Trip waited, giving Fitz a moment, decided to take a slightly different track with this mostly one way conversation.

"You know, you and me, we're gonna be friends whether you want us to or not. _I can feel it_. My great grandma always said psychic abilities ran in our family. Maybe I'm really a clairvoyant," he joked, nudging Fitz good-naturedly.

"There's no scientific basis for clairvoyance," Fitz shot back quickly, as expected, but there was something like a smile playing at that corner of his mouth.

Trip shifted through a few more items in the case, a wide grin back on his face now, but he kept his eyes downcast, not looking at Fitz as he told him, "you should tell Simmons."

"Tell 'er what'?" Fitz feigned confusion, running one hand through his curls as though he was muddling over a very difficult equation.

"Fitz. Man. Come on. The way you feel about her? It's obvious." Trip slid his eyes to the side again to see Fitz scratch the bridge of his nose before bracing his hands on the table. "Most women, they'd give anything to have a guy look at them the way you look at Simmons. Some guys too." Fitz rolled his eyes, but the color in his cheeks deepened. "I'm serious, man. You might not wanna talk about it with me. I get it. It's weird. Guys don't talk about stuff like this. But I'm tellin' you: We're gonna be friends. I'm not," Trip rolled his own eyes as he spoke, "goin' after Simmons. I got no plans to take her away from you. Doubt anyone even could. They'd have to be a special kind of crazy to try."

"Ye really think so?" Fitz perked up just a bit at that, turning to face Triplett, curiosity lining his features, a goofy grin on his face at the idea that no one could take Simmons from him.

"Ha!" Triplett pointed at him, taking a half step back from the table. "There it is." He shot Fitz a pleased smile a mile wide. "I knew it! I knew-"

"Shut it!" Fitz hissed, grabbing his arm and pushing it back to the table, knocking Trip into one of the noisemakers in the process. Trip managed to catch it right before it hit the floor.

"Everything okay over there," Coulson called.

"Fine. Everything's fine."

"Yep. Good."

They looked at one another and Fitz actually smiled when Triplett laughed at him.

"Alrigh', so maybe it was because o' Simmons. Happy?"

"Yeah," Trip teased him, "Happy as a… clam? Is that what people say?" He shot Fitz another grin, glad the other guy wasn't scowling at him. "So, how long you been sweet on Simmons? Let me guess, pretty much since you met her? Or is this a new thing? It doesn't feel like a new thing."

Fitz smacked Triplett lightly in the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Enough already. We're suppose' ta be gettin' mission ready."

"I can multi-task," Trip protested. "Yep. You and me are gonna be _good_ friends. Now I just gotta get you to read Moby Dick. Book's a classic."

"Don' push it," Fitz joked. "Ye never know. Maybe I really could hate ye."

"Don't you know I'm awesome?" Trip raised his hands to his chest, gesturing to himself. "Nobody _hates_ me. Except maybe Garrett. But I'm okay with that."

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Maybe this is why I did no' like ye before. Yer quite full o' yerself, ye know that?"

"Fitz! That's an awful thing to say," Simmons admonished as she walked up to them, dropping a backpack on the table that was full of his equipment. "Agent Triplett has been nothing but kind."

"Simmons," Trip remarked brightly. "Look at that, Fitz. It's Simmons."

"I see 'er," Fitz deadpanned, crossing his arms over his front. "I was jus' jokin'," he explained to her. "'S no' wha' ye think."

She eyed the two of them in surprise, gaze darting back and forth between the two of them. She rested on Triplett's cat-got-the-canary grin for a moment before turning back to Fitz, only to find him with wide and seemingly innocent eyes, a slight answering smile on his own face.

"Alright," she gave in eventually. "I'm going to get my bag then." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at them again before turning around.

As she walked away, Triplett pointed at Fitz. "That was all your fault, my man."

"No. Tha' was yer's."

Fitz slipped his arms through the straps of the backpack, tightening the chords as he went, securing it in place.

"I do think you should tell her, Fitz." Triplett reached out and pulled on one of the straps where it had come loose. Fitz nodded his thanks, but didn't actually say anything. "I will bet you the stash of candy you've got hidden at the bottom of your bag that Simmons feels the same way."

"Simmons packed tha bag, so she probably took ou' tha candy," Fitz admitted. "Besides, I thought ye did no' eat junk."

"I figure after we take out Garrett and get a lead on Hydra, we're all gonna be gettin' a nice vacation again. I can afford a little crap in the temple once in a while, as long as I don't overdo it."

"We'll be lucky if we ever gi' another vacation," Fitz said, eyes back on the case, ignoring the other part of the conversation completely. He scratched his cheek nervously.

"Fitz."

"Yeah. I know I should tell 'er, alright? Jus' no' yet. We're abou' ta go."

"Okay." Trip backed off, hands up. "Take care of each other out there."

Fitz nodded, his face losing color by the second as it occurred to him that he and Simmons were actually going out into the field, no Ops agent to escort them, to locate the bus that had been taken over by a bunch of Hydra agents.

Watching his face pale, Trip added, "I know you've got your tech and the EMP buzzer, but it never hurts to be prepared. You and Simmons are good at that. Take something else."

"No, I mean, we're jus' findin' the plane. You lot will see more action than us." Fitz gestured to the gadgets in front of them. "You'll need it more." He gave a half-hearted shrug, but Trip saw Fitz's gaze rest on the pile of quarters in one of the tins.

"You sure you don't want anything else? How 'bout one of these quarter walkie talkies. They have a built in homing beacon."

Fitz gave in to Triplett's needling. "Okay, thanks."

"I'll keep one too."

"Don' want ta be greedy. We've already got tha DWARFS." Fitz gave Triplett another small smile, but they could feel the mood in the room shifting around them.

"No problem. Alright." Triplett chuckled, then gave a nod and raised his fist, waiting for Fitz to bump it. He thought that would be the right way to end this first actual conversation that felt like something close to friendship with the other man, but Fitz stared awkwardly, then raised his own open hand, fingers curling around Triplett's hand in an oddly affectionate gesture.

The awkwardness was broken by Coulson pulling them all together to go over the mission, just one more time. Triplett did his best to pay attention to what the other man was saying, but at this point, they all knew what they were supposed to do by heart. He tried not to laugh when Coulson told Fitz and Simmons for what must have been the twentieth time that they were only scouting out the location of the bus. He knew this wasn't a laughing matter.

-o-

Skye crept up behind Trip as they all prepared to get into their separate cars. She was tempted to act like she hadn't heard any of his conversation with Fitz, but when Trip looked at her, his eyes almost as all-knowing as May's, she just shrugged.

"He's gonna tell her," Trip told Skye confidently. "20 bucks says he tells her today."

"Psh. Look here, Special Ops, I know you've been with us for some pretty big stuff lately, but I don't think you know the science twins like I do." She leaned against the car door and crossed her legs. Trip chuckled as he started loading her down with supplies. "Fitz is one of the bravest guys I've ever met," she explained, "but he's also a huge chicken when it comes to Simmons. He'd do anything to keep her happy, and if he thinks that means not telling her how he feels…" Skye let her voice trail off and clutched her laptop to her chest.

"Yeah, he doesn't like change either," Trip told her, pointing to himself with a cocky grin, "but he's comin' around."

"Aw, that's just cause you're too pretty for us all not to like you," Skye teased, tapping his cheek with the tips of her fingers. They both laughed as she dropped her hand, but her smile slowly fell and she turned serious, shooting a look over her shoulder where May and Coulson were discussing something just outside their borrowed plane. "You're gonna take care of Coulson for me while I'm busy with this, right?" She gestured to the laptop she was gripping with one arm like a lifeline. "May can take care of herself, but Coulson?"

"Of course." Trip nodded his head emphatically. "He ain't goin' anywhere on my watch."

"We almost lost him once, you know?"

"I know. We almost lost you too, remember?" Trip tried to turn the frown on his face into something a little more sarcastic. "I had to do a hell of a lot of work to help Simmons keep you breathing."

"Is that your way of telling me you'd miss me if something happens?" Skye joked.

Trip gave her one of his lazy smiles, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't know... you talk a lot." She scoffed at him and his smile broadened. "Maybe a little bit." He held out a hand and pulled her away from the car when she took it, reaching around her to open the door. "Besides, after today, you're gonna owe me a twenty."

"Sure, I am."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the result of me realizing I didn't have a chapter that was primarily Fitz and Trip yet. If you want to see even more of their developing friendship before their interaction here, check out notapepper's 'Green' which explores Fitz's jealousy. It's fantastic.
> 
> And thanks, as usual, to notapepper for being my extra set of eyes on this!


	24. Xiphias

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Xiphias.

-o-

"Well, aren't you an interesting specimen?" Simmons looked over her subject on the table. "But what makes you so special, hmm? What have you been eating?"

She slid another slide into the microscope, ignoring the various pieces and organs she had removed and placed into jars for the time being. So far, she hadn't found anything dangerous in the different samples she had examined, but that didn't mean anything. She had two more fish to inspect after this one.

She sighed, not finding what she was looking for in the microscope. Standing back, she stretched her arms above her head and thought aloud, speaking to the computer for the speech to text program she had opened.

"The subject is 20.895 kilograms. No evidence of contamination by Chitauri or related organisms has been detected in subject Dorothy." Simmons paused, almost tapping her chin in thought before she remembered the gloves on her hands. She pulled her hands away, picked up a scalpel and made another careful incision into the fish on the table. "As xiphias gladius reach sexual maturity at five years, subject must be at least that age. Tissue indicates eggs were laid as recently as one week ago… if contamination did occur, though it is as yet undetected, offspring could also be affected." She carefully scraped along the tissue in question, readying herself to prepare a new slide, when the door to the lab slid open with a hiss.

"Simmons. We're breakin' fer lunch if ye'd like – What is tha' awful stench?" Fitz halted just inside the door, hand coming up to cover his mouth, face paling at the sight of bits and bobs from a giant fish on the surface of his lab table.

"Fitz…" Simmons hesitated before attempting to smile sweetly at him. "I was trying to get this done _before_ you came back from helping Ward with the new weapons."

"Why is there a fish on our table? No, why're there _fish pieces_ on our table?" He stood very still, taking a slow breath, bringing the collar of his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth. "I though' we had a deal. No living things in tha lab!"

"It's not alive," Simmons protested weakly, gesturing to the organs in their jars, the tissue samples in their petri dishes. She didn't mention that she had two more fish in a cooler at her feet.

"No former living things in tha lab!" His voice was muffled, but his anger and disgust came through loud and clear.

"A friend of Agent Coulson's dropped this off. I'm doing a favor for him. He thinks – "

"I don' care wha' he bloody well thinks. There is a _fish_ in tha lab! It smells _like fish_ in here. There is blood and wha'ever those black bits are on tha table!" He pointed with the hand not clutching his shirt.

Simmons followed his finger with a little trepidation. "It's not as though I won't clean everything up."

"Tha' is not tha point! It's like tha bloody cat all over again."

"Oh, Fitz. Not the cat. Again. Please."

"It is no' okay ta put an experiment's liver next ta someone's lunch."

"I didn't know it was your lunch!"

"It was on tha shelf in the refrigeration unit labeled 'food.' Where else was I suppose' ta put it?"

"Maybe not in the lab?"

Simmons sighed. She couldn't even count the number of times they'd had this argument anymore. Organic material in the lab always brought out this side of Fitz – the less adventurous, easily disturbed, and much less likely to be supportive of her work side. Fitz continued to rant about the indecency of a dismembered animal being in their shared workspace, and she allowed the noise to filter out of her conscious thought as she began examining the eyes. There was something about the eyes she didn't like. Were they cloudier than they should be? No. Likely just a result of the beginning stages of decomposition.

"Do ye no' remember the las' time we had a dead thing in tha lab?" The effects of the Chitauri virus were still fresh in his mind.

She sighed in response. She remembered.

"Are ye even listenin' ta me, Simmons?"

"Yes, Fitz." She sighed again, but as he started up again, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She shouldn't find him being disgusted by this so amusing, but she couldn't help it. Fitz was brave in many other areas of his life, brilliant with machinery, but put him next to a deceased organism being opened up and examined, and he was suddenly a five-year-old, grossed out and ready to heave into the nearest waste receptacle. There was also a pleasant warmth spreading through her at the thought that his overreaction was likely due to the last dead thing in the lab having infected her with a nearly fatal virus.

He was _worried_ about her. It was sweet.

"Disgustin' creatures," Fitz muttered.

"Swordfish are actually quite fascinating," Simmons cut in. "For fish, they are strangely solitary animals. No schools. They don't even like to be within ten meters of another of the same species, let alone other animals. They're cold blooded, but they can conserve their energy by directing body heat to only their brain and eyes to improve their vision when they're hunting. It's amazing," Simmons gushed. "And the female swordfish are the bigger of the species. When spawning, they can carry anywhere from one to nearly thirty million eggs. If these fish have been infected - "

Fitz scoffed. "Yer fun facts'r no' goin' ta distract me from tha fact that ya have fish innards all over my table."

" _Our_ table," Simmons corrected patiently. "We share this lab, remember?"

"Is this where ya tell me tha' I wouldnae have this lab if I hadnae followed ye inta tha field? Tha doesnae mean ye should cover it with animal guts."

She quirked an eyebrow at the term _followed._ Normally, Fitz was quick to say that she had persuaded him, twisted his arm, and they had gone into the field together. He never said that he _followed_ her. He had accused her of _dragging_ him a time or two, but for him to say that he _followed_ her seemed to indicate something other than the professional partnership they had carefully maintained.

Besides, it wasn't as though she would have gone into the field without him. She had turned down other assignments when he had refused them. She chose not to think about what that might mean right now. She had a job to do.

"It hardly took much convincing for you to go into the field. You like it out here!"

"Again, no' the point!"

"Then what is your point, Fitz?"

"We were no' brought on ta Coulson's team ta dissect things! We're here fer weapons development an' tech analysis."

"That's why _you're_ here. Fitz, you know that sometimes science means I have to dissect things. I _am_ a biochemist, not your personal engineering assistant."

"I never said ye were my assistan'-"

"You're implying that my job isn't as important-"

"I jus' think fish guts is no' in the job description."

"-when biology is just as important as mechanics."

"Of course biology is importan'-"

"All those weapons you make, we have to understand how they actually work on living, breathing, people."

"When did I say yer job wasn' importan'?"

Fitz screwed his eyes up and watched Simmons indignantly, moisture from the warmth of his breath beginning to seep into the material pulled over his face. While he had been standing still, one hand twitching at his side while they argued, eyes rolling, she had been methodically putting her samples into a set of plastic boxes and packing them away. Now, she was placing empty specimen jars and slides on the table from the cabinet behind her. She changed her gloves, the snap of the latex echoing through the room.

"You didn't have to say it. It's obviously what you think since any organic matter in the lab is met with such hostility." Simmons bent down behind the table, and Fitz took a step forward to lean across the surface and see what she was doing.

"Ye know damn well tha' is no' true…. Are there more?" He practically screeched as she opened a large cooler he had failed to notice was on the floor. How could he not have seen it? It was almost the size of the trunk of a car.

Simmons groaned as she gripped one side of the fish and discovered that she couldn't lift it. "Yes, there are two more. Four fish is really a very small sample size." She stood back up, elbows pushed into her sides as she thought.

Fitz shuddered as he saw the two giant swordfish packed securely in the ice, but at the expression on Simmons' face, he gave in. "Why'r ye dissectin' them?"

"One of Coulson's contacts thinks that the swordfish population has been affected by an alien contaminant."

"Alien as in-"

"Chitauri."

That word had become such a big part of their lives recently that Simmons almost imagined it echoing around them. They stood in silence for a moment, Simmons allowing the word to sink in and Fitz trying to chase away the possibility that they could wind up with another alien virus on their hands. What if it wasn't even the same as the first one? And here she was, in the lab, dissecting something that could be carrying killer contaminants. She blinked first, turning her gaze away from him, and Fitz felt his throat close up slightly.

"But – tha's –"

"Strange pieces of metal have been washing up on the coast. They look like the bits that make up the neural uplinks. There's a case with a few pieces in it for you over there," she gestured vaguely behind her to a small grey box. "He thinks the swordfish have been eating them – or that their prey have been eating them – but I haven't found anything in Dorothy or Toto's stomachs to indicate they're ingesting anything even remotely Chitauri-related."

Fitz had been all set to bound over to the box she had indicated and get to work right away, likely in the adjoining room where he could ignore the smell, so that she wouldn't have to keep working on the fish, but he paused at the names she had given to her subjects.

"Dorothy and Toto?"

She couldn't see the smirk through his shirt, but she could hear it.

"Yes," she told him defensively. "It was the first thing that popped into my head. We can't all name our subjects after Disney characters," she retorted.

"Tha' was yer idea," he shot back, the grin still in place.

"When you name your machines DWARFS, the story of Snow White does instantly leap to mind," she retorted, her cheeks pink.

"Well…" Fitz widened his eyes comically. "Was there a twister? Did one o' tha fish swallow a ruby slipper? I mean, Nemo or Flounder would've been more appropriate, no?" He hopped out of the line of fire when she picked up a piece of ice from the cooler and chucked it at him. "Hey! What if tha fish are contaminated?"

"I told you, I haven't found anything to indicate that. Viruses spreading across species is actually very rare," Simmons offered. She waited a beat, allowing the top of the cooler to click shut. "You know, I could get the fish out of _your_ lab much faster if I had help with them."

"I am no' touching the fish."

"So put on some gloves," she joked. He shook his head, still clinging to the shirt that was covering the bottom half of his face.

"Fitz, please? I can't lift the next one by myself." She allowed her face to fall and cut him off before he could suggest going to get Ward. She knew the way to Fitz's heart, or in this case cooperation, was food. "If you help me, I will make you lunch for a week."

"Ye already make lunch fer the two o' us most days."

"Fine. Lunch and dinner."

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks? It's a fish, not a bloody bomb."

"I could take care of a bloody bomb!"

"Fine! Two weeks. Lunch and dinner." She picked up a pair of gloves and shook them in his direction. "If you help me run the tests, I'll throw in breakfast."

He grumbled under his breath as he let go of his shirt collar and struggled to put the gloves on his hands. One of them tore a jagged edge down the side and he gave her a look of annoyance, pressing his nose into his forearm and sniffing before speaking.

"These're the small gloves. Do ye think I'm twelve?"

"We-ell…" Simmons trailed off teasingly, but she smiled at him. "Sorry. I had the small ones pulled out for myself." She rummaged around in one of the cabinets and pulled out a larger package, tossing them in his direction without looking.

Fitz shook his head after he was forced to reach high above his height to snatch them from midair. Simmons had terrible aim even when she was looking. He pitied the villain that she ever had to shoot at, even with a night-night gun. He pulled on the gloves as he walked around the table, trying very discreetly not to gag. It's not like he hadn't been around raw fish in a market before. There was something very different about fish laid out for consumers to purchase and fish sitting in the lab to be pulled apart and analyzed though.

Simmons popped the cooler back open and stood at one end, gesturing for him to do the same. He rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the box on the floor, coughing into his shoulder, his eyes watering.

"Breathe through your mouth if the smell bothers you," Simmons tried to help.

"So I can taste tha fish instead? No, thank ye."

She gave a bark of laughter and refrained from explaining to him that many of the same molecules that led humans to detect scent also allowed them to detect taste. It probably was not the kind of information he would find helpful right now. She realized she had instinctively placed herself at the tail end of the fish, giving Fitz the head, and the part of the fish where most of the weight would be settled. The thinner section of the fish body, just above the caudal fin, provided an easier grip for hands too. That, somehow didn't seem entirely fair. Especially since he was eyeing it with open disgust again.

"Roshambo?" She offered. "Winner gets the tail?"

Fitz shrugged and placed a fist on his open palm. He knew exactly how this was going to go anyway. He had never beat Simmons at a game of Scissors, Paper, Stone in their entire friendship. She had a knack for knowing exactly which finger formation he was going to throw. As they dropped their fists against flat palms, he had the fleeting idea that he could throw up a completely different symbol that had nothing to do with the game to throw her off, but he quickly dismissed it and pointed out two fingers in the universal picture of a pair of scissors. Simmons' fist was still balled in the form of a rock.

"Scissors," Simmons remarked with a soft smile, bumping her gloved fist against his fingers. "Fitz, you should really start leading off with something else if you ever expect to win a round. Want to go best two out of three?"

"'S fine. Let's just' do this, yeah?" He knelt down on his side of the box, waiting for her to do the same.

She did, but she chewed on the corner of her mouth, hands fluttering in front of her as she realized that Fitz was not only going to be lifting the heavier end of the animal, but also the end with the elongated and incredibly dangerous bill. The bigger the fish, the longer the bill. And this was a very big fish. She reached into her side of the cooler and gripped the fish securely around the tail end.

"Be careful. The bill is very – "

"Sharp?" Fitz asked her sarcastically. "Thanks, Simmons. I never would have guessed."

"Excuse me if I don't want you to slice your arm open! Most people are under the misconception that a sword fish simply has a pointed tip on the bill to spear things with."

"Most people," Fitz muttered under his breath. "Most people aren't bloody geniuses." She didn't hear him.

"But honestly, that's ridiculous. Why would a swordfish spear its prey? How would it get them in its mouth?" She scoffed, the words tumbling out of her own mouth with surprising speed. "Swordfish actually use a – "

" - back an' forth motion ta slash their prey ta ribbons before they eat them. I _know_ tha', Simmons."

"Right." She nodded, bracing her feet on the floor and hoping that between the two of them, they could get the fish onto the table. "Of course you know that. Sorry. Habit." She shrugged and scrunched her face up in something resembling an apology. "Okay." She took a breath and watched him prepare to grab the fish, reaching in almost blindly. "No, Fitz. You do that, and when we lift up, the bill is going to catch on your trousers, cut right through them."

He raised an eyebrow, then glanced from the fish to his waist. Just how had she managed to work that out? Simmons' cheeks colored slightly as she watched his thoughts play out over his face. She didn't really need him thinking she was staring at any part of his trousers while she was kneeling in front of him. That could be viewed as very inappropriate. Not her intention at all.

He repositioned his hands, but shook his head. His fingers twitched when she made a noise protesting his next movement as well. "Alrigh' Simmons, what do ye suggest?"

"Put your left hand here," she pointed to the surface of the swordfish head, just above the visible eye. "Be careful not to damage the eyes though. I need to examine them." He huffed, and she waited for him to comply. "And your right hand here," she gestured to the space just between the gills and the pectoral fin. "But – "

"Don' damage the gills. Got it."

"Count of three then?"

Fitz hesitated, then nodded, slipping his gloved hands into the cold below the fish, cringing at the feel of the body through his gloves. He could just imagine that it was slimy and slippery and – god, they needed to get this over with.

"One. Two."

Fitz braced himself, but Simmons stopped counting, and his grip slacked. "Wha'?"

"Your hand moved. You need to keep them in place, Fitz."

"My hand did no' move!"

"Yes, it did."

"Why're ye watchin' my hands? Pay attention to your half o' the fish, Simmons!"

She let out a breath. "Fitz, if you shift too much, you're going to end up with a swordfish bill through your abdomen." When he didn't respond, but bit down on his bottom lip to keep his mouth shut, she added, "think of it like learning to drive. The fish is the steering wheel. Keep your hands at ten and two."

"Tha fish's nothin' like a steerin' wheel."

"Do you want to switch places?"

"No!"

His voice was harsher than she anticipated and Simmons watched him for a moment, the expression on his face sheepish when he looked back down at the fish in front of them, positioning his hands as she had instructed.

"Fitz," she began, realizing that he had thrown scissors on purpose to keep her from the sharper side of the fish.

"'S fine. I got it."

She hesitated, wanting to thank him, but deciding better of it. He wasn't going to admit to it anyway. "Alright, just remember, ten and two. Just like the hands of a clock. Your arms should be at a one hundred twenty degree angle and – "

"Just pick up tha bloody fish!"

Simmons laughed as she began to lift up.

Fitz did the same, but found they only had the fish suspended a few inches above the cooler, neither of them shifting any further, their bodies bent awkwardly over the ice below. "Jesus, Simmons. I think this fish weighs more'n ye do."

"Is that your way of telling me I need to lose weight?" She tried to joke, but she let out a puff of air, very close to panting under the exertion of the fish. It had to be upwards of 60 kilos.

"Wha'? No. Yer perfect," Fitz answered without thinking. Simmons nearly dropped the fish in surprise. He tried to shift his weight, to get enough of his own strength behind it to leverage the fish onto the table, but the bill of the creature slid against his shirt, shredding one of his sleeves.

"Fitz!"

He grunted as he tried to maneuver.

"Jus', hang on." He gripped the fish tighter and they slowly brought it up higher between them. "Since when do bloody fish grow this big?"

"Actually," She pulled out a fact from the back of her mind, intent on focusing on something other than knowing that Fitz could have easily torn through skin and muscle with the bill. She really was panting now. Goodness, she needed to start hitting the punching bag with Skye or something. "The largest – " deep breath in "swordfish ever recorded – " she groaned "was caught off the coast of Chile – " another sharp breath in "in 1953. It was nearly 500 kilos." She couldn't hold on anymore, the tail of the animal slipping from her grasp and landing with a harsh slap in the melting ice.

She stopped just short of covering her face with her hands as she saw the effects of her dropping the swordfish play out all over Fitz. He had jumped back and let go as he realized she couldn't hold it, another long slice running down the length of his shirt now, though his tie was suspiciously still intact. Luckily, the bill had only sliced through one layer. She could see the blue of the shirt underneath, not pale skin, so she wasn't going to have to administer antibiotics. But all over him were droplets of water from the melting ice. He shook his head like a dog, trying to dislodge the moisture from his cheeks without actually touching it, before he bent his neck and wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Fitz," she whispered, trying very hard not to laugh. "I am so sorry." She shook moisture from her own arms as she spoke.

"Are we gonna have ta take a decontamination shower?"

"I don't think so?"

"Wha' do ye mean ye don' _think_ so?"

"I told you. I haven't found any evidence of Chitauri contamination."

"But ye are no' sure?"

"Well, no." She reached out tentatively, fingers grazing the torn fabric of his shirt. "I'm sorry about your shirt."

"My shirt? I could get a bloody alien virus! I don' care abou' tha bloody shirt!"

"You're not going to get a virus – "

"Ye said yerself, ye don' know – "

"For God's sake, Fitz, I can run blood tests on you – "

"Ye tried ta kill me with tha bloody fish, now ye wan' ta stick me with needles?"

Fitz took a step back from her, placing the table in between them again.

"I did not try to kill you! The fish is heavy!"

He scoffed, pulling the gloves from his hands with a snap.

"It was an accident," Simmons protested as he went on and on about dead animals in the lab. Again. "Ugh. Fitz!"

-o-

"You two finished?" May poked her head around the door to the lab, her face attempting to stay expressionless, though she wasn't able to hide the hint of a smirk there, but neither of them saw it. Their arguing had been echoing down the hall for the last ten minutes since the lab door had never shut behind Fitz.

Fitz and Simmons both clamped their mouths closed, not turning in her direction, staring one another down across the expanse of the lab table.

"Is that a no?" She raised an eyebrow.

"She started it," Fitz exclaimed, just as Simmons rolled her eyes and snapped, "I'm just trying to do my work."

As they began arguing with one another again, May broke in to quietly remark. "Lunch is up."

"Thank god," Fitz bit out, turning away from Simmons to follow May out the door. "I'm bloody starvin'. All tha' almos' bein' killed by a swordfish worked up an appetite."

"Right, because you aren't always hungry," Simmons called, shutting the cooler with a firm snap and hurrying after them to the kitchen.

He didn't respond to her, just kept walking down the corridor.

"What happened to you?" Skye asked, wrinkling her nose as she placed a loaf of French bread on the table. For once, they had fresh items instead of things powdered or freeze dried. Coulson's contact hadn't just dropped off cases of swordfish.

Simmons realized what a fright they must look then, glancing down at her own clothing, where the speckled remnants of the melting fish-scented ice appeared. She patted her hair self-consciously; wisps of it were coming loose from the elastic where she had secured it. Fitz had the worst of it though. Especially with the jagged pieces of his shirt hanging off of him. He was wearing it like a battle wound.

"Simmons tried ta kill me."

"I – " She began to protest, then threw her hands in the air, giving up. There was really no point in responding to him now. He wasn't going to let it go.

"Really? It only took her seven years, huh? Surprised it didn't happen sooner," Ward joked.

"Ha. Yer so funny, Agent Ward." Fitz rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and took his usual seat.

"So, Simmons," Ward continued, a smirk on his face, "how did you try to kill our engineer?" He pointed his thumb in Fitz's direction. "And why didn't it work? I thought you were a genius."

Fitz scoffed. "He doesna think I'm intelligent enough ta outsmart ya," he said to Simmons, clearly offended.

Simmons rolled her eyes. "It wasn't my fault. The swordfish – "

"Bloody swordfish with their stench an' their weaponized faces," Fitz cut in. "I think I hate fish."

"Oh, the swordfish," Skye chimed in. "How's that going? Find anything cool?"

"No, she tried ta saw me in half with one."

Simmons shook her head in exasperation just as Skye placed another bowl on the table.

"Wha's tha'?" Fitz asked, his face scrunching as a familiar smell, and not the one currently clinging to Simmons and him, reached his nostrils.

"Tuna salad." Skye shot him a wide grin as his face fell.

Simmons let out a small giggle, but it turned into full blown laughter when Skye winked at her and Ward chuckled. Even May and Coulson were hiding smiles.

"I hate you all."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The headcanon that I've absorbed that Fitz always throws scissors comes from TheSushiMonster, whose stories you should definitely read.
> 
> The word for this chapter was courtesy of notapepper, who also helped me iron out all the kinks because she's awesome. If you haven't read her FitzSimmons story The Shots You Don't Take, you should! It's fantastic.


	25. Yill and Yaw

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Yill and Yaw.

-o-

They had been sitting by the pool for hours, tossing out ideas and half-formed plans to one another the way a homeowner would give out candy to early trick-or-treaters just after sundown on a rainy Halloween – haphazardly, and with little regard for whether or not they were giving their best. The cloud cover had grown heavy and the sky dark, but they sat on the edge of the pool, jeans rolled up to their knees, feet dangling in the water, Trip the only one of the four on high alert for enemy movement.

After days at this hotel with no sign of Hydra or other fallen SHIELD agents, the rest of them no longer peered over their shoulders at the squeak of the gate or the slam of a car door in the parking lot. May was more vigilant than Trip, doing patrols of the perimeter every night, but May wasn't there. She and Coulson had taken the one vehicle they had for a meeting with "an old friend." Trip had orders to keep the rest of them in line, something that would have offended Fitz or Simmons if they were not currently bored out of their minds.

It was Skye's idea, really. As most of the things that went against the rules often were. It had been Skye's idea two days earlier to stay up until dawn watching 80s movies that the others had never heard of. And it had been her idea to buy nothing but junk food when they last went shopping, just to see if she could piss off Triplett. And it had been Skye's idea to go swimming at two o'clock in the morning when the pool was supposed to be empty after 10 just the night before.

So, really, it wasn't that surprising that Skye would be the one to suggest them breaking one more little rule.

But… were there any rules to be followed now, other than don't get caught by the authorities? They were already fugitives. The only people they had to answer to were themselves.

"I think" Skye announced, one foot bouncing in the water, leaving ripples in its wake, "we need to go out and get some drinks."

"There's a soda machine right over there," Trip deadpanned, pointing to the corner of the pool deck where the vending machine that had fueled them for their first night sat lonely and unused since Coulson had broken out the credit cards that belonged to his many aliases in favor of takeout.

"Not those kind of drinks" Skye shot back.

Simmons met Fitz's eyes for a moment before she turned to look at Skye, just a few inches away from her. "We can't. Coulson said they wouldn't be gone long. To stay put."

"Come on, Simmons. We've been hiding out for days. We've been looking for leads and we haven't found them. We're staying at a crappy motel in a crappy neighborhood. Most of our stuff is on the plane that a traitor stole from us." Fitz opened his mouth to say something like _alleged traitor,_ but Skye cut him off. "We don't even know how many SHIELD agents survived everything that happened." Skye let her words hang in the air for a moment, knowing that she had their attention now. "I think we all deserve to have a couple of drinks. For all the crap. And for the people who can't have them."

"Way to play to their guilty consciences," Trip remarked. He knew she had the scientists in her pocket now, even if they knew she was blatantly manipulating them.

"One drink. Cannae hurt." Fitz shrugged, eyes locked on Simmons instead of the others. "For Doctor Hall."

Simmons sighed, hands fidgeting in her lap. "Fine. One. For Agent Weaver."

The three of them turned and stared at Triplett until he started to get uncomfortable. He'd never really understood that peer pressure was an _actual thing_. He'd never been unable to say no before. And he was responsible for the three of them. The three of them were all looking at him with pleading eyes and hopeful smiles, and he was going to be the one to take all of that away. But he rolled his eyes and gave a lazy grin. They had been cooped up here for days. A quick walk wasn't going to kill them.

"There's a liquor store up the block. Why don't we just go get something and bring it back?"

"Yes!" Skye pumped her fists into the air in victory and shot to her feet, almost teetering into the pool in her excitement. She ran and grabbed shoes before Fitz or Simmons could even stand.

"I feel like we should be concerned that the simple prospect of alcohol has this kind of effect on her," Simmons mused, pulling on her own shoes.

"I donnae think it's tha alcohol. I think it's tha gettin' ta leave this place," Fitz muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, what is taking you guys so long?" Skye stamped her foot while she stood beside the gate waiting for them, and then she laughed at the looks on their faces. "No, seriously, when was the last time any of you had a drink?"

They all thought as they walked.

"On a mission with Garrett. We were on Deathlock's trail. Well, I thought we were. One of the safehouses had whiskey." Trip didn't offer up any other information. He didn't want to even think about Garrett right now. Garrett was part of the reason they were skulking in shadows on the side of the street, him keeping his eyes open for garden variety thugs as well as special agents that might be more deadly.

"With Ward. At Providence." Skye said the words so softly they almost didn't hear her. "Before… you know." She swallowed and ran a hand through her hair. "I don't want that to have been my last drink before we're celebrating kicking Hydra's ass." She shot Simmons an impish smile, trying to cover up the hurt in her eyes. She reached a hand out and poked the other woman in the arm. "What about you, Simmons?"

"Oh… erm…" Simmons thought for a moment, her brow crinkling slightly. "I think I had a beer when we spoke at the Academy? Before Donnie and Seth –"

"Simmons, that was months ago," Skye protested. "You had to have…" she trailed off though as she thought about the missions they'd been on since, the down time in between. She couldn't remember seeing Fitz or Simmons with a drink in their hand. Not even on team game nights. "Fitz?"

"Longer ago than tha'," he answered, without offering an explanation, looking down at the ground as he walked, his cheeks pinking.

Skye's eyes widened. She remembered the last time she'd seen him drink. The night after Simmons had walked out of the plane and into the clouds, certain she was going to die. He had been sitting alone at the bar on the plane until the early hours of the morning, sipping from Coulson's whiskey stash. Maybe going out for a drink hadn't been such a good idea after all if it was only going to bring back painful memories for everyone. She needed to turn this around.

"Well," Skye offered, "let's call this an early celebration then." She skipped a few steps ahead of the rest of them, trying to channel a little bit more 'happy' for the occasion.

"What are we celebrating?" Trip asked warily, keeping one eye on her to make sure she didn't skip herself right into oncoming traffic or something.

"The inevitable fall of Hydra. Duh. We're the good guys. We have to win eventually, right?"

No one answered her as they trudged behind her into the liquor store's parking lot.

-o-

Triplett placed a six pack of some cheap bottled beer on the counter at the register, but Skye came up behind him and replaced it with a large bottle of some sort of fruity flavored vodka and another of ginger ale.

"Nope. Absolutely not."

"This is a celebration, remember?"

"What is Coulson going to say when we spend 45 bucks on alcohol?"

"I hope it was worth it." Skye smiled sweetly at him, hands clasped in front of her, rocking back on her heels. She could tell Trip was trying to decide whether he should laugh at her or roll his eyes at her childlike antics. She didn't care. Whichever got him to buy something that didn't taste horrible. The few times she had witnessed Simmons drinking the cheap beer Ward brought on the plane, she had made a face after each and every sip. Skye wanted to make sure everyone was going to enjoy this.

He sighed and nodded.

The guy at the register stroked his greying beard thoughtfully and pointed over behind them. "They getting anything?"

They turned to see Fitz and Simmons standing in front of a case of imported beers, debating the different properties of the drinks, hands gesticulating wildly. Simmons even smacked Fitz lightly in the shoulder with the back of one hand before he scoffed at her. He started to walk away from her, turning right into a display of plastic cups, narrowly managing to catch the side of it before they fell.

"If that's what they look like before drinking anything, maybe they don't need any," Trip stage whispered to Skye.

"You said we could celebrate," Skye told him. "We are celebrating." She yelled over to Fitz, "grab one of those things of cups," before turning back to the man with the beard. "That's it. Dad here, won't let us buy anything else." She stuck one thumb in Trip's direction, and Trip was sorely tempted to grab her hand and tell her that pointing was rude, but he didn't. That would just reinforce the dad comparison. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the credit card Coulson had left with them in case they wanted to order food. He didn't think this qualified as food.

"You got ID?"

Trip and Skye exchanged a quick look.

"Gotta card anyone who looks under 30. Rules are rules."

"Babe," Skye snapped, switching from annoyed and immature to long suffering girlfriend at the drop of a hat. Fitz and Simmons both had to stifle laughs at the expression on Skye's face when they walked up. Her glare could rival May's. "You forgot your wallet at the hotel _again,_ didn't you? You put the credit card in your pocket, but not your ID?"

They might have had plenty of aliases on the books and in computers, but they didn't actually have passable IDs for all of them. She reached into her back pocket with a sigh, keeping her eyes firmly away from what she was sure were the bright red faces of Fitz and Simmons, who seriously needed to work on their undercover skills, and pulled out an old fake ID she had made a few years earlier. Luckily, she had kept it after turning 21 and her appearance hadn't changed that much. Who knew she would end up using it as a spy trying to score some alcohol?

"Look, I'm sorry," Triplett said smoothly, draping one arm over her shoulders. "I was a little _preoccupied._ "

Simmons coughed into one hand and gave a strangled, "We'll just wait outside," grabbing Fitz's hand and dragging him with her while he laughed.

Skye handed the ID over. "See if you get to be _preoccupied_ with me again on this vacation," she muttered, turning her face away from him and straightening her spine determinedly. It was actually very difficult not to burst into laughter, even without Fitz and Simmons standing behind them.

Trip had to admit, she was pretty convincing for someone who hadn't had the same rigorous undercover training as normal Ops agents. He wasn't even sharing a room with her, and a part of him was a little worried he was going to have to sleep on the floor tonight. She was _good._

" _Babe_ ," Trip needled as the cashier pushed a few buttons, entering the birthdate on her ID into the computer. "Come on." He sidled closer to her. Why was the cashier taking an extra-long look at her ID? He took them on one walk, and they were going to get busted as SHIELD agents for buying booze with a fake ID when they were all of age? Really? _Don't worry about us, Hydra, this cashier's got it under control._ "I'm not the only one who enjoyed it."

"Here you go," the clerk handed over the ID and the credit card before settling their purchases into a cheap plastic bag that Trip picked up from the counter. "Enjoy your vacation."

Trip kept his arm around Skye until they got out to Fitz and Simmons, just in case. It wasn't likely that the guy at the liquor store was a Hydra operative, but these days, you never knew. The scientists were standing by a broken payphone at the end of the parking lot, Fitz balanced on the edge of the curb, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He would tip forward until his toes skimmed the asphalt, then rock back to his heels on the concrete. Trip didn't know what he was saying, but he was probably explaining some strange physics principle. He looked like he could have just stepped out of a high school science lab, like a kid up to not good in the liquor store parking lot on a school night, the way he was grinning at Simmons as he balanced. She reached up and poked him in the side with her finger, causing him to teeter back and forth just a bit, and she laughed at something else he told her. They both stopped when they saw Trip and Skye heading for them.

"Everything okay?" Simmons asked with a smile before she started giggling again.

"Oh, babe," Skye joked, stepping out from under Trip's embrace to link her arm with Simmons, "everything's great."

Fitz rolled his eyes as he hopped down from the curb and they started walking. "Guess we shoulda thought abou' identification before we left," he said.

"Skye handled it," Trip remarked, gesturing to the bag in his hand, following Skye and Simmons from the parking lot as well. "Though hopefully, I never have to be reprimanded by her again." He and Fitz laughed. "I pity the boyfriend who ever pisses you off," Trip joked. Her steps faltered ahead of him and he realized too late what he said, that Skye's thoughts would probably drift to Ward and his feelings for her.

"Yeah, well… I don't see a lot of dating in our futures. Hard to meet people on the run from a secret group of evil dudes," Skye said, trying to play it off as though she had tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.

"Yes, well, we'll just have to make do with each other, won't we?" Simmons mentioned off hand. No one responded, their footsteps sounding loud on the sidewalk. "Oh. No. That's not what I meant."

Skye gave a soft chuckle and patted Simmons on the arm reassuringly. "It's okay, Simmons. We knew what you meant."

Trip glanced at Fitz out of the corner of his eye, but Fitz was watching Simmons in front of him with a half-smile on his face, his thoughts very obviously far away. Trip grinned. The boy was becoming more and more transparent the longer they were hiding out in the motel. They needed to get out on a mission soon or Fitz was going to start doodling Fitz-Simmons in little hearts all over the hotel stationary.

Although, Triplett thought to himself in amusement, if Skye got Fitz to drink enough tonight, she might convince him to get Jemma tattooed across his chest in bold script or something equally ridiculous. Skye didn't seem to have any plans that involved tattoos though as she stopped them all right outside the locked gates to a park.

"Who locks a park?" Skye muttered before spinning herself and Simmons around to face Trip, sad puppy face already in place.

"No." Trip shook his head, but he was trying not smile at her. "I'm sure the city locks the park for a good reason. We're going back to the motel."

"Come on, super spy, live a little!" Skye turned her puppy dog expression to Fitz, whose eyes widened. "We should go in, right Fitz?"

He shot his gaze to Simmons for help who gave a slight giggle at his expression and Skye's pleading, but didn't say anything.

"Guys, it's not like I'm saying we should break into someone's house!" Skye abruptly dropped Simmons' arm and reached into the back of the other girl's hair, looking for the bobby pins she had used to secure those few wisps of hair that always seemed to slide out of her pony tail.

"Skye!"

"Tools of the trade, Simmons!"

Skye knelt down, and Fitz and Simmons immediately closed ranks, blocking the view of anyone passing by. Protecting one another, even from normal citizens, was instinct at this point. Trip shook his head in exasperation but didn't say anything else, looking up at the cloud cover above them and hoping they didn't get caught. If they got caught, he was probably going to have to leave someone unconscious in the park bushes, and he was pretty sure that was something Coulson was going to frown upon.

May might find it amusing though. That could be a point in their favor.

"Huh. I think I'm a little out of practice,' Skye muttered, grunting in frustration as she tried again.

"Maybe the pins aren't long enough," Simmons offered.

"It's a standard padlock," Skye shot back. "They can only go in so far."

"Here," Fitz knelt beside Skye, leaving Triplett to block him from the street view while Simmons, craning her neck to see what he and Skye were doing, looked entirely too suspicious for her own good at this time of night.

Fitz took the pins from Skye, inserting them back into the lock at slightly different angles, then closed his eyes in concentration, leaning his head in close, listening for the clicks of tumblers and pins. The lock popped open in seconds and he smiled broadly.

"Well done, Fitz." Simmons clapped her hands, and he gave a mock bow from his position crouched on the ground.

"I didn't know you could pick locks," Skye remarked, slipping the lock from the gate and opening it wide enough for them all to pass through before looping it back on the gate from the other side, not pressing the pieces together so they'd be able to get back out.

Fitz shrugged.

"Why do you know how to pick a lock?" Trip asked him.

"Is it suppose' ta be hard?" Fitz quipped.

Trip nodded his head and held back a grin. Of course picking locks wasn't hard for Fitz. Never mind that it took Trip two weeks to learn how to do it when he was a teenager being groomed for a spot at the Academy.

They all followed Skye down the path and into the park, where she perched herself on the step of the wooden structure likely meant to resemble a castle.

"See, guys, isn't this nicer than sitting by the pool? We get our very own castle!" Skye waved her hands with the flourish of a game show host at the structure behind her.

Fitz scraped one fingernail along a crumbling section of wood. "I've seen better."

"Don't ruin this for me, Fitz."

Skye took the bag from Triplett and set about pouring them each drinks, mixing a little bit of ginger ale in to dull the alcohol a bit.

"We should make a toast," Simmons said, carefully swirling the contents of the red plastic cup around after Skye handed hers over. She wrinkled her nose up, leaning against the railing that lined Skye's seat.

Skye nodded, handing a cup to Fitz, then one to Triplett, before picking up her own.

"To Hydra's inevitable fall," She started before shrugging.

"Ta Coulson for keepin' us together," Fitz added in, the others nodding in agreement.

"To what's left of SHIELD," Triplett added, "here's to us kickin' some ass,"

"And," Simmons added before anyone else could drink, remembering Skye's earlier comments, "to those of us who didn't make it, who stood up so we could keep going."

"Sounds good to me," Skye commented, bumping her plastic cup against the others before taking a drink.

"Wha' tha hell is this?" Fitz asked peering into his cup curiously, then reaching for the bottle next to Skye. "It tastes like candy."

Skye shrugged. "Some sort of tropical fruit flavor. I just grabbed something off the shelf that I thought would taste good."

Simmons sipped from her own as though afraid she was going to be poisoned, but a smile bloomed. "Skye, this is lovely. We should get more of this."

"No." Triplett shook his head.

"You are seriously no fun tonight," Skye pouted. "Drink faster so I can make you another one. You need to loosen up."

-o-

Three drinks later and Triplett was sitting on the top of the bar meant for kids to hang from, his legs dangling as he stared at the sand below them. Fitz was alternately pushing Skye on one swing, then Simmons on the other, while Skye told them all a story about the time she almost got arrested for staying in an abandoned apartment building.

"God, hasn't anybody heard of squatters' rights anymore?" She practically yelled, her voice carrying well beyond the little playground castle.

Trip whipped his head from side to side as quickly as he could, peering into the darkness, making sure no one was coming, almost losing his balance. "Shhhhh!" He hissed down to them. "What if someone hears you?"

The other three stared at him for a moment before bursting into giggles.

"Trip, how much have you had to drink?" Skye asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Whatever you gave me."

"No more for Agent Triplett," Simmons declared with a small smile. "He looks like he's had enough." She took another sip from the cup in her hand. Trip was pretty sure she'd had twice as many cups as he had. Maybe Skye had given her more ginger ale than alcohol.

"Don't you want to see how drunk we can get him?" Skye pretended to whisper behind her hand, just as Fitz caught her and pushed her swing beyond Simmons. "Hey!"

Simmons laughed though as Fitz pushed her next, leaving her and Skye swinging slightly out of sync. Trip watched them from his perch, Simmons swinging her feet lightly like a little girl while Skye allowed Fitz to do all the hard work for her. Trip scrambled down from the bar with surprising agility considering he did find the world a little more wobbly than usual.

"Guys, we should probably get back to the motel," He informed them, leaning his weight heavily against the support pole for the swing set. Simmons stopped kicking her legs, letting her weight slow the motion of her swing, but Skye shook her head and kicked her feet out before Fitz could push her again.

"No way, we still have," she twisted around in her seat, trying to see where she left the bottle, "um… some left."

The twisting in her seat pushed her slightly off track as the chain links of the swing knotted and spun, causing her seat to collide into Simmons as the scientist stood up. Fitz reached out to separate them, but as Skye careened off of them and they were all experiencing slightly impaired balance, he only succeeded in causing himself and Simmons to topple into the sand, tangled together, while Skye's swing spun back around.

"Woah." Skye planted her feet in the sand and tried to get her bearings. She couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from the sight of Fitz sprawled across Simmons between the two swings though, Simmons cup spilled into the sand next to them. He propped himself up on his elbows, but he didn't get up right away, seemingly dazed at this turn of events, and it only made Skye laugh harder.

"Fiiiitttz…" Jemma groaned from her position in the sand. She reached up and poked him in the middle of the forehead. "You're heavy." She didn't look particular upset though, and Skye had to cover her mouth with one hand to muffle the growing noise of her laughter.

"Sorry, sorry."

Triplett watched, chuckling slightly himself as Fitz attempted to scramble to his feet to get off of Jemma. As he stood, he caught his arm in her vacated swing and almost tripped over her in his haste to straighten himself out. He grabbed the swing with one hand, held it still, then took a breath. He sheepishly reached for her hand with his other and pulled her to her feet.

She started shaking her arms out, sand loosening itself from her sleeves as she did.

"Fitz," she chided gently, but she was smiling now, "there's sand all in my hair, isn't there?" She spun around, only slightly losing her balance, but Skye and Fitz both reached out to steady her while Triplett laughed louder.

The entire back of her body was covered in a fine layer of white playground sand. Fitz lightly swiped at the back of her head and shoulders, dusting the sand off, but when his hands traveled about half way down her back, he hesitated, looking over at Skye for help, who just rolled her eyes and told Jemma, "Fitz is afraid to touch your butt, but it's got sand all over it too." Skye hopped to her feet and made her way back to the castle steps very carefully, searching for their open bottle of liquor.

Fitz opened and closed his mouth like a fish as he sputtered, "What – I – Tha's jus' – I was tryin' ta be polite."

Jemma turned back around to face him with a slight laugh. "It's fine, Fitz. Very gentlemanly of you."

She dusted the rest of the sand from her clothing herself before grabbing his wrist and pulling him over to the castle structure with her. Triplett, resigned that the three of them were no longer listening to him (Were they ever?), brought up the rear.

Skye, having located their mostly empty bottle, but finding the ginger ale finished, dangled the bottle from her fingertips and began to climb up the structure until she was inside the tower-like piece of the castle. She had to duck to get inside, and she couldn't fully straighten up without hitting her head, so she flopped to the wooden planks and laid back, staring at the ceiling up above her.

"Guys, you have got to come up here."

"Is this going to hold all of our weight?" Simmons asked curiously when she had crawled alongside Skye and settled next to her, leaning back on her elbows, but not reclining any further.

"If it collapses, we'll blame Hydra," Fitz joked, taking a seat on the other side of Simmons.

Trip poked his head in the doorway. "Nope. Four adults cannot fit in here," he muttered, sitting in the open doorway instead, leaning his head back against the wooden frame.

"Aw, come on, Trip, there's room for you right here, right next to me." Skye took a swig from the bottle before passing it over to Simmons and then patted a wooden section of floor between her and the opening to a plastic slide.

Simmons took a sip from the bottle as well, coughing without the soda to cut the alcohol, and handed it over to Fitz. He looked at the top of the bottle for a second, as though debating whether or not he wanted to put his mouth on something two other people already drank from.

"Honestly, Fitz," Simmons chided him, knowing exactly where his mind was going, "you act like you haven't been sharing all of our germs on the plane and at the motel anyway…"

He shrugged and took a long pull from the bottle, the others watching him, before putting it down behind him. He was starting to feel warm and lazy, probably a lot like Triplett judging by how Trip kept lolling his head from the frame of the opening to his own shoulder, watching the rest of them.

"Trip, seriously," Skye drew out the words slowly, "aren't you going to join the party?"

Trip groaned, but he crawled awkwardly across the three of them to wedge himself between Skye and the slide opening. "Do not push me down this slide," he told her, closing his eyes.

"Well, I'm not going to now. It wouldn't be a surprise."

"Even in his current state, his reflexes are probably better than yours," Simmons spouted off, her voice only slightly less precise than usual, "he'd probably be able to pull you with him, and then you'd both get stuck in the slide since it isn't made for anyone larger than the average twelve-year-old, and Fitz would have to figure out how to get you out."

"Why would I 'ave ta do it?" Fitz asked, stretching himself out so that his feet rested in the opening now that Triplett wasn't there, leaning his head back on his arms, enjoying the way the world was tilting on its axis more than he should.

"You're engineering," Simmons said as though the answer should have been perfectly obvious. "It's your job."

"I've never removed someone from a playground slide before."

"There's a first time for everything," she sing-songed, collapsing on the wooden panels and leaning her head against his arm as well.

"I don't think Simmons needs anymore to drink either," Skye commented as she watched Simmons curl up against Fitz, fingers playing with the tie he was wearing. "It's just you and me, Fitz."

Fitz didn't answer her.

"He can't hear you," Trip mumbled, still with his eyes closed. "He's in the Simmons vortex."

Skye laughed, her gaze shooting up to the ceiling, where her eyes traveled along the beams above them to see different colors of ink and paint creating designs she couldn't quite make out in the dark. Curiosity getting the better of her, she squirmed between Simmons and Triplett, reaching into her pocket for her cellphone and turning on the flashlight to shine it above them.

Fitz peered up at the ceiling to see what had caught Skye's attention, and even Triplett cracked open his eyes at the sudden pin points of light coming through his lids.

"What is that supposed to be?" Simmons tilted her head slightly to the side, trying to get a different angle at the particular bit of graffiti that Skye was shining her light on.

"Simmons, I know we've all hit a dry spell lately, but you're a scientist. You've got to know a little bit about human anatomy."

"That bit," she explained, pointing at the ceiling, "seems very disproportionate."

Fitz coughed to hide his laughter as Simmons tilted her head again, this time to the other side, her ponytail brushing against his nose as she tried to examine the drawing from another angle. Even Triplett peered up at it, laughing as Simmons began pointing out all of the anatomical and perspective based errors in the drawing.

When Simmons started to go into a little more detail than Skye needed to hear, she moved the light over to the typical messages kids would scrawl in permanent marker in all the places they weren't supposed to.

_Julian + Kay 4ever_

_Brie was here!_

_Mikayla luvs Javi_

"Ugh. Kids are weird. There isn't even anything fun other than Simmons' drawing," Skye complained.

"It's not _my_ drawing," Simmons protested.

"The kids that hang out up here are problem ten," Triplett reminded her.

"So what you're saying is I shouldn't add my own graffiti to the ceiling in black eyeliner?" Skye deadpanned. "Not even a _Hydra sucks_? Or a _SHIELD 616 is the bomb_?"

"Probably not."

"What about _Trip's foxy_?"

"I don't know if I'd go with foxy. Ruggedly handsome, maybe. Chiseled. Those are good."

They didn't see Fitz roll his eyes in the dark, but they heard Simmons laugh.

Skye ignored Triplett's words to wriggle around and pull her eyeliner out of one of her pockets, pushing herself up to her knees, and hand her phone off to Simmons. The light wavered as Skye tried to write since Simmons was having difficulty keeping her hands steady, but Skye was still able to change each of the bits of graffiti with shaky handwriting.

_Julian + Kay_ _4ever_ _4now_

_Brie was here! For the party!_

But when she came to Mikayla's bubbly writing in deep purple, the ink from the marker having spiderwebbed out into the wood, Skye didn't have the heart to change it. She kind of hoped things worked out for Mikayla and Javi. Maybe those two crazy kids would last and one day they'd be bringing their own kids to the wooden castle in the park. It was with that thought that Skye realized she might have had a little too much to drink as well.

She pursed her lips, wanting to do something as childish as leave their mark on the playground too, but not knowing what she wanted to write, she laid back down and let her mind wander. She thought about how the uncomfortable scratchy motel room sheets kept her awake at night, but the presence of Simmons, and sometimes Fitz or Triplett, in her room reminded her that she was with friends. She thought about how much she hated lemon-lime sodas, but those were always the kind that May picked out because there was no caffeine in them. She thought about how sometimes Coulson patted her on the head when he walked by and she might have been starting to understand what it was like to have a family. Her eyes were just beginning to slip shut when Fitz asked the rest of them, "Is anyone else hungry? I'm bloody starvin'."

"You're always starving," Simmons told him sleepily.

Skye could hear the smile in her voice and she slowly opened her eyes and looked over at Trip who was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I guess we should be heading back, huh? Before Simmons falls asleep and Fitz tries to eat the castle. We can order a pizza or something." She nudged Trip with her foot.

"Oh, y'all are ready to go now? I think I suggested that an hour ago." His usual lazy grin slowly lit up their side of the castle.

"Careful, super spy, or I'll push you down the slide after all."

Trip surprised her by swinging his legs around and into the opening of the slide. "I can't remember the last time I was in one of these." He pushed off and disappeared from view while Skye laughed in delight.

"Did he just –" Simmons peered over at the corner curiously.

"Yep."

Simmons crawled across Skye to call down the plastic tubing, "Does Fitz need to sort you out?"

There was a series of grunts and expletives that left Skye and Simmons cracking up.

"You know," Trip yelled back to them, bringing a halt to their laughter, "It's a lot harder getting out than it is getting in. I'm almost as tall as this thing is long." Skye opened her mouth to make a comment, but he quickly added, "Don't even think it, Skye."

Simmons and Skye dissolved into laughter all over again while Fitz shook his head, grinning in spite of his feelings toward Triplett, sitting up, and grabbing their mostly empty bottle. He surreptitiously dumped the last centimeter of liquid out the opening in front of him, hoping Skye would forget that there had even been any left. The way everyone seemed to be on the verge of either passing out or collapsing in hysterical laughter, he didn't think anyone needed to be drinking anymore, including him.

"You guys going to brave the slide?" Skye asked as her laughs hiccupped to a stop.

"Oh, why not?" Simmons muttered, a silly smile still on her face, slipping herself into the opening, her jeans giving a slight _whoosh_ as she pushed herself down the tube.

When Simmons giggled at the bottom of the slide, calling back to them so that her voice echoed up through the plastic, "Are you two coming?" Fitz and Skye grinned at one another.

"After you, Doctor Fitzy."

He gave her a mock glare.

"Oh, sorry, is it just Simmons who gets to call you that?" Skye teased him.

He didn't answer her, just climbed into the tube with the now empty bottle in his lap, and flung himself through.

Skye laughed, picking up her cell phone and her eyeliner from the floor. She looked up at the space just above the slide's opening and wrote in an easy script along the smoother section of a wooden plank, _Skye's friends are better than yours._

That felt appropriate for a night at the playground. She grinned, slipping her belongings back into her pockets and climbing into the plastic tube that kind of smelled like old cheese. She didn't feel like a secret agent in training right now. She felt like a kid getting to hang out with the best friends a girl could have.

-o-

Skye dropped their used cups and empty bottles into a trash bin by the entrance, looking around to make sure no one was watching them leave. The world was starting to feel bright and hazy all at the same time. She was sinking into that space between drunk and sober where everything seemed fun and beautiful.

"Okay," she chirped, locking the gate behind them. "Safety first! Everybody grab a buddy. We're not falling over into cars while we're crossing the street!" She linked her arm through Triplett's as she spoke and turned her attention to Simmons, but Simmons had already grabbed onto Fitz's hand, pulling him with her to cross the street. Skye practically skipped behind them, dragging Trip with her. Trip, starting to sober up, was able to keep up with her, though he still managed to get her to slow down to an easy stroll once they got to the other side of the street.

"You were right," he told her before he thought better of it, "this was fun. We needed it."

"I know." Skye grinned at him, letting go of his arm. "We should do stuff like this more often. You know, after we finish cutting off all of Hydra's heads."

Triplett chuckled. "Yeah, okay."

They walked another block in companionable silence.

"You think AC and May are back yet?"

"God, I hope not." Trip shook his head. "How mad will Coulson be?"

Skye shrugged. "He'll probably understand. Besides, you came out to protect us kids so he can't get too mad at you, right," she joked.

"Yeah…" Trip trailed off, watching as Simmons was brought to a sudden halt ahead of them by Fitz, who was pointing at a food truck parked against the curb. Simmons shook her head adamantly and pulled Fitz along. Trip grinned. He could imagine the pout that had cropped up on Fitz's face. He alternated between keeping an eye on the scientists, making sure Skye didn't walk into any light posts, and keeping an eye out for possible threats while they walked. It was after midnight, and it would be just his luck that someone would try to mug them on the way back to the motel. The neon lights from the convenience stores and the flashing signs at the cheap restaurants were starting to make his vision go blurry though.

Skye nudged him conspiratorially, and when he was able to focus his gaze on her, she nodded her head in the direction of the scientists, just a few steps in front of them. He may have been pleasantly buzzed, but that didn't turn him into a gossiping school girl, so he didn't say anything, just watched Simmons and Fitz as they walked again. Simmons had been the one to reach for Fitz's hand when crossing the street, and her fingers were still tangled with his, gripping them a little harder than necessary, like she was afraid he was going to let go. She even had her other hand curled around his arm, holding on tight. When Fitz pulled her closer to move her out of the way of a passing bicyclist, he kept her pressed against his side, their hips bumping every so often as their hands swung.

They could have been a couple on their way home from a night on the town. Instead, they were just friends trying to survive a war they didn't know existed until a couple of weeks ago. Triplett felt a familiar ball of hot anger press into the middle of his chest. None of them deserved to be in the middle of this fight that was supposed to have ended with Captain America decades ago. As the motel came into sight though, he pushed that anger down, flattened it into a space somewhere deep inside that he could access the next time they had a mission.

Instead of thinking about that, he pulled out his phone and asked Skye, "Sausage or pepperoni?"

-o-

"Is this how you do a perimeter sweep?"

Trip opened one eye. He didn't remember falling asleep in the lounge chair on the pool deck, but clearly, he had at some point. He glanced from side to side, afraid to open both eyes and look for the source of the voice above him. Skye was curled into a tight ball in a chair a few feet away from him, the remains of the pizza they'd ordered on the table between them. He didn't see any sign of Fitz or Simmons, and he silently prayed that the two of them were asleep in their rooms and not kidnapped or something else he didn't really want to think about.

Trip cleared his throat and straightened up. "It's been pretty quiet," he rasped, one hand clinging to the edge of the lounge chair as the world spun.

It was May standing over him, an eyebrow raised, mouth giving a slight twitch that betrayed her amusement.

"You smell like a bar." She paused. "So does Skye. Get her to bed before Coulson sees."

Trip tried to nod, but the pounding that started up behind his eyelids made him regret it, so he stood, forcing the pain out of his mind, and tapped Skye gently on the shoulder.

"Skye," he whispered, trying not to startle her, but pretty sure he couldn't carry her to her room right now, "It's time for bed."

"You should at least buy me a drink first," Skye mumbled as she opened her eyes. "Oh, wait." She laughed, still half asleep.

"Come on," Trip chuckled, hauling her to her feet and stumbling with her toward the room she shared with Simmons. "I won't get handsy if you won't."

"No promises," Skye quipped.

Trip could practically hear the eye roll that followed from May behind them.

Coulson came through the pool gate just as Trip got the door to the room unlocked. With nowhere else to go, he followed Skye inside, only to find Fitz and Simmons sprawled amongst a pile of pillows on the floor, sound asleep, the television playing an old episode of _Dr. Who._

Skye crawled into bed with an "If I throw up in the middle of the night, don't judge me."

"This room is judgment free," Trip agreed, stretching out on the other bed with a sigh. "Except we should probably have a talk with Fitz about his pillow fort building skills. That one side is completely collapsed." He half-heartedly pointed out the space between Simmons and the bed where the pillows were in a messy pile, very unlike the structured wall-like formation on the other side of Fitz.

"Wait…" Skye struggled to pull herself up on her elbows while Trip struggled to keep his eyes open. She dropped her voice. "They were in here a while… you don't think they – _you know_?"

"What? FitzSimmons?" Trip opened his eyes fully and peered at the duo, sleeping peacefully amongst the seemingly haphazard structure of pillows. Fitz was flat on his back, curls slightly mussed, tie loosened, but still in place. Simmons, on her side, was facing him, but her head was nestled on her own crooked elbow, not his as it had been during drunken playground discussions. There was a good six inches between them. "Nah." Trip paused, trying to decide just why he thought nothing happened. "Fitz still has his shoes on."

They both watched the scientists for a few minutes before falling asleep themselves.

-o-

Coulson settled himself into the chair vacated by Skye, eyeing the pizza wearily. He didn't recognize half the toppings on it.

"How drunk were they?"

"Triplett could still walk. No slurred speech."

"Well, I guess that's not too bad."

May let a small smile sneak out. "I expected Skye to talk him into worse."

"You should wake them up early for training. Take them all for a run."

May gave a full grin in response.

-o-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installment in life at the motel. (If you like the look at Coulson's team living out of the cheap motel during the last few episodes of the season, Incidentals, Key, Lock, and Prestidigitation are all set during their time there.) The words for this chapter were the result of a list of random crossword clue definitions.
> 
> Yill – to ply with ale
> 
> Yaw – to move unsteadily from side to side
> 
> Thanks, as usual, to notapepper for helping me with this one. You're a gem!


	26. Zorro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final chapter of Conversation Hearts. This was one of only two chapters to go completely AU, but I wanted to write something fun to end it on. If you're still reading this, if you've taken the time to favorite it, bookmark it, review it, suggest a prompt for me, whatever else you've done, thank you! I appreciate all of it.
> 
> And since a few people have asked, yes, I do plan on doing an alphabet challenge throughout season two as well. Maybe next time around I'll actually stick with drabbles! Yeah, okay, probably not. Haha
> 
> The following people suggested some really interesting words or gave me prompts for the words: Salkri Kachemench (Explosion, Monopoly, Night),Blubo (Fear), Devan Alexander (underwear), and notapepper (Prestidigitation, Showdown, Xiphias, and Zorro).
> 
> And a huge thanks, as usual, has to go out to notapepper for being my beta for most of the chapters (probably all the good ones) and helping me get the last few done just in time for season two. She's also responsible for Coulson's pick up lines in this last chapter. She's got a fantastic new story out called "Out of the Lab-yrinth" that all of you FitzSimmons fans will enjoy.

Conversation Hearts.

-o-

Zorro.

-o-

"Are you sure we won't get into any trouble?" Simmons asked for what must have been the fourth time.

"No, Simmons, we won't get into any trouble. For the last time, we have the night off. Coulson said, and I quote, _have fun, just don't break any major laws._ " Skye smiled in satisfaction, clicking a few more keys on the computer. "Done. Our invites are scored." Skye paused to look over at the fidgeting scientist, who was busy making inventory notes in her downtime. "You guys need help with costumes?"

"Help with costumes? Pfft. Ya donnae know who yer dealin' with." Fitz closed up another piece of equipment, latching everything into place.

"My mistake," Skye said with a grin. She held her hands up in surrender before closing her laptop with a quick _pop_.

"Well, Trip and I are heading into town to see what we can find. Call me if you need anything," She yelled the last sentence over her shoulder as she scooped up her computer and exited the lab with a grin.

Simmons didn't answer her, attention focused on the list in front of her. The scientists were silent for a few moments, both of them busy with their own tasks.

"Simmons?" Fitz asked as he shut down the last piece of equipment.

"Hmmm?"

"Did we ever actually decide on costumes?"

"Erm…" She attached the piece of paper to a clipboard, intent on giving it to Coulson first thing the next morning, and turned to Fitz. "We _might_ have discussed several different options without actually _picking_ one."

"Great."

-o-

Skye slammed the door to the car and followed Trip up to the door of a nondescript warehouse just at the edge of the downtown arts district. She wrinkled her nose.

"You sure this is the right place?"

"Positive," Trip told her. "I borrowed a tuxedo from here for an op once." He knocked out a pattern of taps on the glass of the door in front of them.

There was a buzzing sound, like an automatic lock disengaging, and Skye's eyes spied a blinking red light in the corner above them. Not only was there a high tech lock in place, but security footage to boot. Maybe Trip knew what he was doing after all.

"Agent Triplett?" A feminine voice came through a speaker that Skye couldn't see. "I don't have you scheduled for a pick up."

"I know, Sally. It's kind of a last minute deal. The team's going to an event tonight." He winked at Skye, fully aware that he would still be visible on camera.

"Well… I'm not supposed to let you pull pieces without paperwork ahead of time…. But…."

When the door clicked open, Trip led Skye inside, nodding at the woman at the desk and giving a flash of his badge for good measure. Sally smiled at him, but there was a clear _you owe me_ light in her eyes. Trip dropped an envelope on her desk in response, gesturing for Skye to follow him down a dark hallway.

"What was that?" she asked him.

"Coulson said we had the night off. I had tickets to a show, but since I'm not gonna be using them, someone should."

"Huh. You are always prepared. Were you a boy scout?"

He rolled his eyes and kept walking, Skye right on his heels.

Where he led her was a giant room full of racks upon racks of clothing, shoes, belts, bags, and other accessories. Anything a SHIELD agent could need to pull of an undercover operation at a moment's notice.

Infiltrating an illegal circus?

Skye spotted a clown costume, complete with oversized shoes and a purple wig. She shook her head.

Maybe you were being stationed in a police precinct?

Skye's eyes ran down the length of one side of the room. The rack was full of all kinds of police uniforms from all over the country, even a few other countries. Clear plastic cases were full of badges and handcuffs.

She was a little overwhelmed. She couldn't process the shear amount of _stuff_ SHIELD had accumulated over the years. You could be anyone you wanted to be as easy as slipping on a new outfit. It was approaching insanity.

"Come on," Trip inclined his head toward the opposite end of the room. They stopped in front of a rack labeled simply _miscellaneous._ "It's easier to take something from here, this stuff hasn't been logged back in yet."

"Ugh." Skye flicked hangers on the rack faster than Trip could spy what she was seeing in the different pieces of clothing. "I should have known there would be nothing good left when the party's tonight. All the agents probably raid the closet."

"What are you talkin' about? This is great." Trip held up a button down shirt, draping it across his front so Skye could get the full effect. The bright yellow fabric was covered in a tropical print with aquamarine and purple flowers, deep green leaves connecting them across the entire print.

"Are you going as someone on vacation?" Skye quipped. "A tacky tourist?"

"Oh, no, I already got a costume made up. This is for you." Trip attempted to angle the hanger towards Skye. "You should try it on."

"I don't think so."

"There is nothing wrong with a tropical print. You just have to have the attitude to rock it."

Skye pursed her lips and eyed him in amusement. "Who are you and what have you done with Trip?"

"FitzSimmons pranked me and all I ever get sent to me anymore are fashion magazines. I'm running out of stuff to read." He paused, putting the hanger back on the rack. "Fitz took all the classics and hid them. He said if he ever catches me reading _Moby Dick_ again, he's going to have Simmons poison my breakfast."

Skye laughed. "I don't think you have to worry. Fitz wouldn't actually have her poison you."

"Yeah. Unless I manage to piss them both off." Trip thumbed through a few more pieces. "How about this?" He held up a sparkly red sequined number with a smirk.

"I am not dressing up as Jessica Rabbit."

-o-

"You ready to go, May?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know, I think you can go back to calling me Phil tonight."

"You said we had a meeting."

"That's what I said."

"Who are we meeting?"

Coulson didn't answer her, just picked up his dry cleaning bag from his chair and led her to Lola. He eyed her outfit in something not too far from surprise.

"We're going to a meeting, not to a fight," he told her, gesturing to her tactical gear, complete with the hidden knife in her boot.

"All you said was meeting. I like to be prepared."

-o-

Skye experimentally clicked her heels together in the cargo bay. Satisfied that her quick spray paint job would pass the test, she shouted behind her toward the stairs, "Come on, guys. Time to go! We gotta head out and get back before mom and dad get home!"

"Mom and dad?" Trip drawled as he joined her, taking the stairs two at a time, adjusting the scabbard at his belt.

"What? You don't think they treat us like the kids they never had?"

Trip tried to glare at her, but he had to give up to tie a black mask over his eyes.

"Who exactly are you supposed to be?"

"Are you kidding me?" Trip tied the mask tightly at the back of his head, then gestured to his outfit with a flourish. He was dressed in head to toe black. The loose fitting long sleeved shirt had a v-neck with ties that he had left open. The sleeves of the shirt were slightly puffed. His faux-leather pants were tucked into an impressive pair of boots.

"A SHIELD pirate?"

"Have you never seen _The Princess Bride?_ "

"What is that?"

"Skye."

"Trip."

"It's iconic."

She smiled at him, stifling a laugh. "Uh, iconic is The Wizard of Oz." She gestured to her own blue and white gingham dress and the pair of white heels she had painted a bright and sparkling red. She had fully intended to come up with some sort of clever tongue-in-cheek costume idea, but when she had seen the blue and white gingham dress in storage, something about Dorothy getting sucked into a strange world and making even stranger friends spoke to her.

Neither of them heard Fitz and Simmons coming down the stairs until Fitz tripped over his own costume and almost face planted at the bottom.

"Oh, Fitz." Simmons rushed down the rest of the steps to haul a Fitz-sized gorilla to his feet.

Trip and Skye exchanged a look of amusement. Jemma, in khaki shorts and hiking boots, binoculars around her neck resting on a loose fitting button down, didn't look drastically different than normal, just slightly more casual. Fitz, on the other hand, was in a gorilla suit, complete with gorilla-finger gloves and a rubber mask to hide his face.

Skye peered at him curiously. "Can you even breathe in there?"

"I can breathe jus' fine." His voice was slightly muffled from the mask, but Skye could still hear him, so she nodded.

Trip tapped his chin in thought, trying to work out just why Fitz was dressed as a gorilla. "Man, I thought you liked monkeys. Aren't gorillas apes?"

"I do. An' they are."

He glanced at Skye, trying to decide how he wanted to phrase his question.

"I think what Trip's trying to say," Skye said sarcastically with an eye roll for added emphasis, "is why the _hell_ are you dressed as a gorilla?"

"It wouldnae make sense fer Simmons ta be Dian Fossey withou' a gorilla ta observe, would it?"

"I don't know how to respond to that," Skye remarked dryly.

"You don't know who Dian Fossey is, do you?" Trip teased her.

"Do I have to remind you guys every time stuff like this comes up?" She pointed to the middle of her chest. "High school drop-out. Lived in a van."

"She was a fascinating woman," Simmons said slowly, trying to shorten her vowel sounds and clip her consonants.

"Why are you talking like that?" Skye narrowed her eyes at the other woman.

"Fossey was an American." Simmons said American as _a-mare-ic-kun,_ trying out the word slowly.

"No. Not tonight she's not."

"Nope."

Skye and Trip both shook their heads. Simmons huffed in indignation.

"Is it that bad?" she asked Fitz in her normal voice.

"I mean, it's no' tha' bad…" he offered under the mask where she couldn't see his face. They could all still tell he was lying.

Trip rolled his eyes and turned to Skye. "You never saw _Gorillas in the Mist?_ "

"Why the hell would I be watching gorillas?" Skye threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

"Yeah, we're going to have to watch a couple movies our next night off. For someone who does an awful lot of pirating TV shows, you got a long way to go."

"Pirating. Heh. As you wish…" Skye trailed off with a grin, skipping her way to the car.

"Ha! I knew you'd seen _The Princess Bride._ Everyone's seen it."

"Is Fitz gonna fit in the car?" Skye asked, ignoring Trip's triumphant grin. Something else stopped her as she opened the door. "You guys didn't go out to get costumes." She paused before climbing in. "Does this mean you _own_ a gorilla costume? Why?"

Fitz didn't answer her, just began cramming himself into the backseat of the car while Trip doubled over in laughter.

-o-

"This does not look like a meeting."

May crossed her arms over her chest and gave Coulson her best impassive look. She hadn't asked questions when they had stopped so he could change his clothes. And she hadn't asked questions when he had emerged in all black with a sword and a mask and a hat. She had learned to roll with it. But now that they were standing outside of a SHIELD facility where people were pouring into the building in various costumes, she was beginning to think she should have questioned him earlier.

"It's a fundraising meeting," Coulson supplied, holding his arm out to escort her up the steps.

She reluctantly placed her hand on it and matched his stride.

"You know I hate going undercover."

"That's why I didn't ask you to put on a costume. You can still be yourself." Coulson smiled even though he could feel her glare. "All you have to do is dance a little. Be my backup when the rich folks don't want to give SHIELD more money to protect them."

"Can I hit them if they say no?"

"We'll see."

She smirked.

-o-

"So, how does this work, exactly?" Skye asked the others as they walked up the steps to the big building in front of them.

"SHIELD holds fundraising events a couple of times a year to supplement their government contracts," Simmons explained. "They basically host a party, allow possible funders to mingle with officials, all in masks of course to maintain anonymity, hence the costume party, and at the end of the night, they give checks to the communications agents stationed at the party."

"How do they know who's an agent and who's a guest?"

"Agents wear these temporary SHIELD issued IDs that don't actually have their names on them," Trip explained, "but since you got your tickets through the guest backchannel, you don't get to be agents tonight anyway. You're guests." He paused and gave a chuckle. "You have to be at least a level six to attend an event like this."

"What?" Simmons voice was almost a screech. "You mean we aren't even allowed to be here?" She was practically hyperventilating under her khaki colored half-mask.

"It's fine," Skye reassured her. "What are they gonna do? Make us donate a pay check to the cause? We've all basically died for them at least once. I don't think they can take our money too. Relax."

She tied her own bright red mask over her eyes to match her shoes. She didn't really think covering up their eyes was going to hide their identities from anyone who knew them, but she was going to play by (at least some of) the rules for Trip's sake. He had agreed to escort them, and she wasn't going to get him into trouble. Besides, SHIELD was a big organization. How many other agents did they _actually know?_

Trip walked up to the SHIELD agent at security, showing his badge and the electronic invitations for the others on his phone. After a quick head nod and a smile, he very quickly waved the other three in.

"See?" Skye whispered, hand on Simmons arm as Fitz shuffled along behind them, "piece of cake."

-o-

"You're not dancing," Coulson admonished.

"Why don't you go dance with one of the donors?" May asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"Most of the donors are rich straight men. They don't appreciate my Spanish come-ons like their wives do," Coulson told her matter-of-factly. When she raised an eyebrow at him behind the mask he had provided her with, he attempted to look innocent. It was hard to do in his getup. "What? You think I would come to something like this as Zorro and not use it to my advantage?"

She shook her head, the movement slight, but it was enough to let him know she was amused by his antics. She didn't protest when he took her hand and led her out to the dance floor. If it had been anyone else who touched her without permission, she might have put them through the wall.

-o-

Simmons clucked her tongue in delight when a woman dressed to the nines in a gorgeous ball gown with intricate beadwork and a matching masquerade mask enthusiastically ran her hand down Fitz's arm. Or rather, she ran it down the fabric of the ape suit covering his arm. Simmons stifled a laugh when she tittered about how the costume must have been very expensive, the fur was so life-like, surely it must have been real? And though she couldn't see his face because of the mask he was wearing, Simmons could feel the horror emanating from him when he took a step back from the regally dressed woman.

"Real fur?" His voice was muffled through the rubber of the mask, but his outrage was unmistakable. "Who do y'know tha' would skin a monkey? Tha's horrible."

Simmons hurried to his side, drinks in hand, before he could begin lecturing the woman on how close to humans monkey and ape species were, how interesting the animals were, why they really were some of the best creatures on the planet – all things she had heard from him before, at length. This other woman didn't know what she was getting herself into.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, holding out a plastic punch cup with one hand. "Excuse us," she murmured politely to the woman who, up close, appeared to be wearing far too much makeup under her mask and far too much hairspray to hold her curls in place under her plastic crown. Simmons could see where the powder had caked and cracked under the tightness of the mask, flesh colored makeup smeared over the edges of the fabric, the way her hair seemed stiff and stuck under the weight of the plastic piece. Fitz didn't even attempt to take the cup from Simmons, and she heard the intake of breath that meant he was about to start a speech, so she transferred the punch cups to one hand and grabbed onto his arm with the other, hauling him away with her.

"Did ye hear wha' she said?" He asked, muffled voice still laced with shock and anger. "Some people."

Simmons stopped dragging him along behind her when they reached a hallway that led to the kitchen.

They both stilled as a man dressed in black, his costume quite similar to Triplett's slashed a fake sword in the air with a flourish, delighting the woman passing by, but not the man on her arm. He leaned in to the woman and told her in lightly accented Spanish, "Mi descapotable rojo... es muy impresionante." The voice sounded familiar, but Simmons couldn't place it, and her Spanish was rudimentary at best. Judging by the way the man in black winked at the woman though, it was likely meant to be suggestive. The man with her scoffed and pulled her away, but the man in black shrugged and made his way back in the direction of the dance floor, so Simmons returned her attention to Fitz.

"Yes," she agreed with a roll of her eyes. "I don't know who would think someone would waste their efforts creating a Halloween costume out of real monkey fur."

She could feel him glaring at her, but she still couldn't see his eyes very well. She wasn't used to teasing him when she couldn't actually read his expression, and the result made her feel off balance. He must have sensed her discomfort because he reached below his chin and pulled up, the rubber mask resting on the top of his head when he let go. His forehead shone with a thin layer of sweat, and he attempted to take one of the punch cups from her gratefully, but the gloves of the suit impaired his grip, almost causing him to slosh the liquid over the side. Jemma giggled a little bit as he yanked off one of the gloves in frustration and took the cup from her, downing the punch in a few easy gulps.

"Honestly, Fitz. We should have come up with another costume idea. You're miserable in that." She switched cups with him, letting him drink hers too.

"I'm no' miserable, jus' bloody hot."

She reached up, running her thumb along his lower lip where a drop of red punch rested, trying not to smile at the way he bit down on his lip when she pulled her hand away. He was adorably predictable.

"Yes, I can see that." She pursed her lips. "You would have been much more comfortable if you had used _my_ idea. I could have worn the gorilla costume and you could have – "

"Simmons, I donnae care how much ye like Tarzan, I'm no' wearin' a bloody loin cloth!"

"It was just an idea," she murmured softly, attempting to placate him, one hand brushing his to take the empty punch cup from him and set both on a nearby table. "And it's not as though I _like_ Tarzan. There are so many inaccuracies in those stories. But they do feature some fantastic monkey species, which I know you appreciate. The original films were recorded in a state park in Florida, you know. They still have a healthy monkey population there as a result of several of the animal extras escaping. We should speak with Coulson about visiting next time we're in Florida. You would love it. And it would be fascinating to see how the different species have adapted there." She cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath. "Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

She glanced up at Fitz with a smile, but he didn't seem to mind that she had been rambling, probably because she was talking about monkeys. Her smile widened when he took a step closer to her and leaned his head in.

"Ye know," he began cautiously, "May an' Coulson are out a' their meetin'… an' Skye an' Trip seem to be havin' a perfectly good time without us…"

"Mmm hmmm." Simmons waited, her eyes sparkling at his expectant expression. She was fairly certain she knew where this was going.

"We could go back ta tha bus. If ye wanted ta."

"Oh, I suppose we could…" she trailed off, eyes roaming the room to see if she could catch a glimpse of Skye and Triplett in the sea of costumes. "But," she cut in before he could latch onto her hand and pull her from the party, "you promised to dance with me, and you haven't. Not even once."

"Ye know I donnae dance."

Simmons tilted her had to the side and watched him squirm under her gaze. She always felt somewhat gratified when she could do that to him with just one look. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, even if he was trying his best to look annoyed.

"Fine." He tugged the mask back down to cover his face, and pulled his glove back on. He gave a long suffering sigh. "Le's go."

She took his hand with a laugh and pulled him back to the middle of the room where the band had begun to play something that resembled a waltz. He stepped on her toes before she could even put her hand on his shoulder.

-o-

"Now that is something I did not think I would see," Skye commented, allowing Trip to carefully twirl her around before pulling her back to his chest. They had learned the hard way that the spinning motion ballooned the skirt of her dress up a bit more than was decent.

"What?" Trip turned them slightly so he could look in the same direction.

Fitz in his gorilla suit was being led around the dance floor by a giggling Simmons. They couldn't see his face under his mask, but his hunched back and shuffling feet showed he wasn't particularly enthused about being on the dance floor. Simmons, for her part was alternating between laughing and attempting to sooth him by counting steps and running her hand over his shoulder.

Trip grinned.

"He always says he can't dance," Skye remarked, "but I kind of just thought he was being dramatic about it."

"Naw. He really can't dance," Trip laughed. "I wonder how she managed to convince him to do a waltz with her."

"Oh, I can think of a way," she told him suggestively.

"What? They're not!"

"For our current resident super-spy, you are not very observant."

Trip gaped at Skye, then looked back over at Fitz and Simmons. "I would know."

"I share a wall with Fitz," Skye deadpanned. "I _know._ Unless there's some other reason Simmons would be making those kinds of noises in the middle of the night. In his room. Repeatedly."

"I think I'm going to have to scrub my brain out with soap now. Thank you for that."

"Oh, come on. You can't really be telling me you had no idea?"

Trip shook his head, and even though he was dancing with Skye, he kept his gaze firmly on the scientists, noting the way Simmons would lightly brush her fingers across Fitz's shoulder when he seemed to snap. The guy probably couldn't even feel it through the mountain of fake fur, but it still seemed to relax the tension in his posture every time. He watched when another person, an agent judging by the tag clipped to his Captain America outfit, attempted to cut in. Fitz, immediately tensing again, moved to back away, head down, but to Trip's surprise, it was Simmons who shook her head, curling her fingers firmly around Fitz's and taking a step closer to him, her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. When the other agent walked away, finding someone else to dance with, Simmons abandoned the pretense of the waltz, pressing closer to the gorilla suit and whispering something to the edge of Fitz's mask that had him gripping onto her waist more tightly.

"Huh. Well. Okay then."

"Told you."

-o-

The music changed to something a little darker and more dramatic than the waltz, and May immediately turned, ready to go back to her space along the wall and keep an eye on Coulson from afar. He had been alternating between dancing with her and dancing with donors, and she found it much more amusing to watch him dance with the wives of the rich men who were keeping SHIELD afloat. A whistle clearly aimed in her direction caught her attention, and she shifted her gaze from the space of wall where she was headed to the drunk man in a suit in front of her. Wasn't SHIELD supposed to be monitoring alcohol consumption at this event? Where were the agents actually working tonight?

"I'm a huge Tarantino fan," he told her, licking his lips, eyes heavy.

"How nice," she deadpanned, shifting her weight to move around him. It wasn't the first time she had heard the sentiment tonight. She was no longer surprised. Or pleased.

"Which one of his girls are you?"

He reached a hand out to touch her arm, but it very suddenly wasn't there, as Coulson had grabbed her hand, and was now leading her into a tango.

"Was that necessary?" She asked him flatly. "I could have handled it."

"He didn't say no to a donation yet," Coulson quipped, turning her sharply and dipping her low to the floor, the ends of her hair grazing the wood of the makeshift dance floor.

May rolled her eyes, but she played the part, wrapping one leg around his as he brought her back up. She even quit fighting his lead.

-o-

"I think we're being out-danced, Fitz," Simmons remarked with a laugh as space began to clear in the middle of the floor for a pair of tango enthusiasts.

"I donnae think tha's hard ta do," Fitz grumbled, keeping one hand around her waist and pulling her back into the crowd.

They watched along with the crowd of SHIELD agents and guests as the man in black they had seen earlier lowered a slim woman in tactical gear into a dip before pulling her back up against his chest. They moved nearly effortlessly across the dance floor, the woman with the toe of her boot pointed even as one of her legs was wrapped securely around the man's.

Simmons cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowing behind her own mask. "Fitz…" she hesitated as the duo on the floor began to dance in their direction, her gaze zeroing in on the woman's tactical wear. "Does her gear look familiar?"

"Standard SHIELD issue," he muttered to her.

"No, look at that sleeve," Simmons nodded, not wanting to point and draw attention to them, "isn't that the hole I sewed up? After May was stabbed? And those boots. Those aren't standard issue."

"Holy hell. _This_ is their meetin'?" Fitz wrenched Simmons further back into the crowd, trying to obscure them from view.

"Fitz!" She hissed. "We could get into so much trouble if they catch us here!"

"Come on," he responded. "We 'ave ta find Skye and Tripplett."

-o-

Skye popped a miniature cream puff in her mouth and watched the dancing couple with a small smile. She wondered if Fitz and Simmons were panicking yet. She had spotted May about ten minutes after she and Triplett had raided the dessert table the first time. Trip had informed her they would probably be paying for all the sweets with double the training tomorrow, but the food was so much better than what they had on the bus, she didn't even care. She had decided not to warn him that May, and therefore Coulson, were here, waiting to see how long it would be before anyone else noticed that Zorro's pick-up lines and shameless attempts at flirting relied on the condition of Lola, his friendship with Iron Man, and his near death experiences.

She was still surprised that they had been here for two hours and hadn't had any mishaps. But now, with Coulson and May tearing up the dance floor in an incredibly hot tango (she was resisting the urge to shout _go AC_ at the top of her lungs), she was pretty sure the rest of the team was going to realize their pseudo parents were a little too close for comfort. Coulson did some complicated footwork as the music drew to a close, he and May snapping practically to attention in the middle of the floor. He was a little winded, but May looked like she was barely breathing at all. The room clapped, Skye more enthusiastically than most. AC was a much better dancer than she had thought. She was weirdly proud of that display.

"Ecks cuze mee, Door oh thee?" Came a very bad attempt at a southern American accent from behind her.

"Oh god," Skye groaned as she popped another mini cream puff into her mouth. "Simmons, we said no accent!" She turned around, another cream puff already in her hand as she chewed.

"Shhh!" Fitz hissed while Simmons looked affronted. "Donnae use our real names!" He looked over his shoulder.

"They're out on the dance floor," Skye pointed out. "They can't hear me." Simmons still looked scared to death and Skye was sure if she could see Fitz's face it wouldn't be much better. "Fine, monkey boy, what's up?"

Simmons gasped. "You knew," she accused, returning to her usual voice, "that they were going to be here tonight, didn't you?"

Skye shrugged and gave a small smile. "Coulson might have asked me for input on his Zorro outfit. He looks good, right? I did a good job on that. Had to steal one of Trip's shirts though, don't tell him."

"Ye knew an' ye still brought us here on our night off?" Fitz asked.

"What? Like Coulson didn't expect me to find a way in when he told me about it and asked me for help? Come on, that was practically an invitation."

"No," Simmons pointed out, "the invitation was on the webpage that you hacked." She put her face in her hands and spoke through her fingers, "they're going to take away our badges, aren't they? God, we're going to have to go work for a horrible think tank or something, Fitz!"

"I donnae want ta work for a think tank," Fitz told Skye. "We should go back ta tha bus. Where's Trip?"

"You two have got to learn to live a little. It's a party! We aren't going to get in trouble! Didn't you guys ever do anything fun before you were on the bus?"

"Skye!" Both scientists yelled her name in unison, drawing the attention of the people around them before they all sheepishly looked at the floor.

"Fine! Trip went to the bathroom. I'll go find him. Meet us outside." She popped her last cream puff into her mouth and looked ruefully at the table. She wished she had a doggie bag. She'd stockpile those things. She waited until Fitz and Simmons began to make their way to the entrance before she grabbed a miniature cannoli off the table as well and started twisting her way through the crowd to the bathrooms. She was probably going have a sugar high later, but she'd work it off with the punching bag or something. It would be worth it.

Her route to the restroom had her winding around small groups of people, some guests, others SHIELD agents who were not taking their direction to mingle with the donors seriously. She was almost positive the one guy in the corner dressed as Robin Hood and glaring at everyone who tried to approach him was Hawkeye, but she wasn't positive since she hadn't met him. She decided it was probably better to not find out.

" _Honestly, SHIELD should just mass market some of its patents. They'd make a fortune without anyone else's help."_

Skye filed that idea away in the back of her head to use for later. That was actually not a bad idea. She'd bring it up to Coulson at their next meeting.

" _I don't know who these people think they're fooling. We know they're all just spies up to no good."_

Skye rolled her eyes at that one. No one trusted a spy. She would know. But everyone wanted the spies to keep them safe. You couldn't make anyone happy these days.

Just outside of the alcove that led to the restrooms, Skye spotted the back of a man dressed all in black. She tapped him on the shoulder and opened her mouth, ready to tell him that FitzSimmons were ready to head out, but when he looked over his shoulder at her, she realized it wasn't Trip whose shoulder she tapped, but Coulson's. Skye took a couple of steps back from him, waving her hand in apology and trying to duck her head so he wouldn't have a clear view of her face. Despite what she had told the others, she didn't want to get them all in trouble.

Coulson was the one to speak first though, a smile curling on his face. "He vivido y he muerto, pero ni en esta vida ni en la próxima he visto a una mujer más hermosa."

Skye tried to not let her shock show through. He didn't recognize her. Skye gave a small laugh, not loud enough that he would be able to catch it, gave him a thumbs up, and fled, almost plowing into Triplett on her way. She grabbed onto his arm, dragging him toward the front doors, not allowing herself to laugh until they were outside, Fitz and Simmons waiting for them at the bottom of a set of steps.

"What is so funny," Triplett started, "and why did you just run me out here like a bat out of hell?"

"Coulson – he didn't know it was me – he totally just hit on me." Skye's laughter began to slowly subside into giggles. "God, he's good too. If I didn't know who he was – " she let the unspoken words hang in the air.

"Wait, Coulson and May are _here_?"

"Yeah, the gorilla and the scientist didn't want to get caught, so we're heading back to the bus."

Triplett rolled his eyes. "You knew they were here, didn't you? You could have said something."

"Oh, come on, why does everybody say that like I committed some sort of sin?"

-o-

Fitz had already shed his mask and gloves in the car, but he was currently twisting around in the middle of the cargo bay, attempting to work the zipper on the back of his gorilla costume without even making his way upstairs.

"Chill, monkey boy, I don't think they're on their way back just yet," Skye told him with a chuckle. "We don't all need to see what's under the suit." Fitz glared at her and shuffled his way to the stairs instead of responding.

Simmons hurried after him, removing her mask and finger combing through her hair, ready to change into her normal clothes as well.

Skye rolled her eyes at the scientists in panic mode and turned her attention to Trip, but his phone dinged indicating an incoming phone call. He tapped the screen and raised it to his ear while Skye waited, tapping her shoe impatiently.

"Sir?" He raised an eyebrow at Skye.

She held her hands palms up, wanting to know what it was Coulson wanted.

"Yes, sir. Quiet night in. Nothin' goin' on."

Skye smiled at the way the lie rolled effortlessly from Trip's mouth over the phone. In person, she was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to manage the lie. There was something about Coulson that made them all want to tell him the truth, no matter how much that truth might have sucked.

"Yes, sir. Skye's behaving herself." He bit down on a chuckle. "You want to talk to her?"

Skye reluctantly braced herself to take the phone from him, but he shook his head.

"No. Thank you, sir. We already ate." He paused. "See you soon." Trip lowered the phone from his ear and disconnected the call. "They're only ten minutes away. They must have left right after us." He took the stairs two at a time, Skye hot on his heels. "Get out of your costumes, guys, they're on their way back," he bellowed down the hall.

"Red alert!" Skye added on, "this is not a drill, guys!" She hurriedly unbraided her Dorothy pig tails while Trip removed his scabbard.

Fitz and Simmons were likely far ahead of them though.

-o-

Coulson closed his eyes, the cool night wind sweeping across his face. Since she'd suffered through the party at his request, and she hadn't even been able to hit anyone for him, he thought it only appropriate that he let May drive them back to the bus. It was always odd when anyone else was in Lola's driver's seat though. At least with May at the wheel, the ride was always a smooth one.

"We're closer than ten minutes," May informed him.

"I know."

-o-

Skye and Trip collapsed at the table, a bowl of popcorn and a deck of cards between them. Simmons face was already beet red and Fitz was already shoveling handfuls of popcorn into a mouth in an effort to keep himself from talking.

Skye looked back and forth between the two of them. "If you can't sit here and not act suspicious, you should go to your rooms," she hissed as the sound of an engine slowing drifted up to them.

"I'm fine," Jemma protested, but she swallowed hard when she heard one of Lola's doors close and the cargo ramp pull up. "Maybe I'll just… go watch a movie or something."

Trip shook his head fondly. "We have got to teach her better lying skills."

"I've tried," Skye answered. "It doesn't really work."

"Hey, she's a lot better at it now than she was when we were a' tha Academy," Fitz shot back.

Trip watched him play with the popcorn in his hand before tossing some into his mouth, all the while listening to Coulson's footsteps echoing from below. "You want to go watch a movie with her man, that's cool." He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he was sure the teasing tone to his voice wasn't going to be missed.

Fitz eyed him curiously. "Skye told ya, didn' she?"

Trip grinned.

"Donnae tell Coulson."

"I don't think he'd care unless you guys were going at it in the lab," Skye teased, then her skin paled when Fitz's hand stopped half way to his mouth with another handful of popcorn. "Oh, god, Fitz! The lab? Really? I work in there too!"

Fitz shrugged and stood up. "I'm takin' the popcorn with me." He left the room, nodding to Coulson, but not saying anything to him when he appeared at the top of the stairs.

Skye gave a small shudder while Trip laughed.

"At least they're in Jemma's room tonight, right?" Trip whispered to Skye. "You won't have to hear them."

"You share a wall with her. Just you wait," she muttered.

Coulson dropped his sword onto the table with a clang. "What are you guys playing?"

"We haven't decided yet," Skye said, picking up the deck of cards while Trip poked the end of the sword, making sure it was really fake.

"Nice sword, sir," he remarked.

"Thanks. Yours was good too."

Skye and Trip painted twin expressions of innocence on their faces.

"What do you mean, AC?"

"Sir?"

Coulson didn't take a seat, just removed his mask and his hat as May walked by them.

"Wheels up in 15," she informed them, making her way to the cabin. Coulson nodded at her.

"Did you think I wouldn't recognize my own team?" Coulson smiled at them. "Simmons wasn't exactly in costume. And I assume the gorilla following her around all night was Fitz. Fossey and a gorilla. Nice touch. And Trip? You make an excellent Dread Pirate Roberts. Very suave."

Trip smiled ruefully. "Thank you, sir."

"What about me?" Skye asked plaintively.

"I gave you my best line, didn't I?"

Trip coughed into his hand to hide his laughter while Skye rolled her eyes.

"I should have known."

"You know," Coulson told them, as he gathered up his things and started for his room, "you all could have come to the event free and clear if you wanted to."

"But sneaking out was so fun!" Skye called after him with a laugh.

"Don't stay up too late."

"Yes, Dad," she deadpanned before focusing all of her attention on the guy still at the table. "Now, Trip, what were these movies that you said I just had to see?"

"I don't think _Gorillas in the Mist_ is in my personal collection. We might have to stream that."

Skye groaned. "I don't think I'm in the mood for gorillas right now."

"Why not? It's a classic." Trip pulled himself to his feet, abandoning the deck of cards on the table. Skye followed his example. "And it's not just about the gorillas."

"You and your so-called _classics._ " She shook her head. "I'm starting to think that word doesn't mean what you think it means."

"Watch out or I will make you watch _The Princess Bride_ with me."

"You say that like it's some sort of punishment."

Without thinking, they both left the common area, Skye following him back to his room, intent on raiding his DVD collection for something to watch. She wasn't in the mood for the skills required to find something to watch online for free. They reached his room, only to hear a high pitched squeal coming from the doorway next to his. Either Simmons was very ticklish, or… Skye didn't really want to consider the rest of that.

"Fitz!" They heard her yell. "If you tickle me while Nine is on screen one more time – "

"Oh, thank god," Trip whispered, "they're just watching _Doctor Who._ "

"Yeah, that's how it starts," Skye whispered back, giving him a significant look. The expression of horror that crossed Trip's face was probably, she thought, related to the numerous times he had marathoned the series with the scientists. "My room?" Skye asked, turning on her heel and not waiting for an answer.

"Yep." Trip followed her quickly, trying to make as little noise as possible to not let the scientists know they were accidentally eavesdropping on them.

"So, no gorillas," Skye reminded him as they reached her door. "What else you thinkin'?"

"I don't know… I'm kind of in the mood for some _Zorro_ now. Coulson was a pretty good one."

"Ugh. We are not watching _Zorro._ "

-o-

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN, this is an alphabet challenge of sorts. Each chapter will feature a conversation between two (at least) members of Coulson’s team. Every chapter will be prompted by a different word, in alphabetical order. Some of the words were chosen randomly. Some were given to me as prompts. These stories are all set at some point within or directly following the events of the first season. Only two chapters are explicitly canon-divergent.


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